wilderness Survival
by Yanagi-wa
Summary: The team is up for wilderness survival training. In other words, someone is going to pick them up off the streets and dump their sorry ass in the out back of nowhere. Unfortunately, Jimmy gets caught in the mix.
1. Chapter 1

Wilderness Survival

.

Thanks to my betas Jake and Jordre

.

Tony wandered into the library, book in hand. "Ducky, explain this please?"

Ducky took the book and read the indicated passage. "Well, buried underneath a plethora of grandiose hype, is the instruction to gently palpate the abdomen to find any masses." He eyed the book in disgust. "Why are you reading this ... stupidity?"

Tony flopped down in a chair. "I'm taking a general forensics class and the prof said to read it and be ready to discus. I'm thinking the man wants us to read it, realize that some people are just long winded ... develop some descrimination in accepting things. Just because someone wrote it down doesn't make it worth reading."

"I see. Excellent idea. Care to continue?" Ducky was looking forward to discussion with Tony, Jimmy, and Remy. Tony and Remy were taking the same class, and Jimmy was just brilliant.

"Not right now. I'm redoing my ruck ... along with Jimmy, Tim, and Remy. Dean, Cos, Remy, and I are due for a Wilderness Survival test soon and I want my ruck up to speed. Jimmy and Tim are just cleaning out and restocking. Remy's due here in ten. Can I get a rain check?"

"Of course, dear boy. I remember in my salad days, we were just snatched up from wherever and taken out to the wilds of Scotland with what we had in our pockets. It didn't bother me that much, as I was raised in Scotland. But the Highlands can be quite cruel. I'd advise stuffing as much as you can bear into your pockets, in case they decide to take your ruck." Ducky nodded and smiled, then went back to his medical journal.

Tony nodded. "That's a good idea and what I usually do. I don't trust them much. Seriously, who enjoys grabbing someone off the street and dragging them out to God knows where?" A tap on the doorjamb made him look up. "Hey, Remy."

"Hey, AJ. Ready?"

"Always. I thought we could do this in the kitchen. Big table, lots of floor space." He yelled up the stairs, "Jimmy! Tim! Remy's here. Bring your rucks down."

The clatter of Jimmy and Tim pounding down the stairs made Tony laugh. "You two better cut that out. Ducky's gonna be pissed. I already forgot and yelled."

Remy sighed. "Dat bad. Ducky, he don' ask much. Just good manners in de house."

"Yeah. He was raised by Victoria to be an old-fashioned gentleman, and by that, I mean old-fashioned for the '60's. He just asks that we not yell in the house or jump down the stairs." Tim shook his head. "We ought to apologize."

Jimmy nodded. "We should. After we get done with this, I'll make him a nice tray. He loves that. He told me one time that the best thing about having me around was he got tea he didn't have to make himself."

Tony grinned. "He does love his tea. You still have any of that Lapsang Souchong?"

"We do. I'll make up a nice pot, and we can sit with him for a bit."

"Okay, let's do this."

This resulted in all three of them dumping the contents of their rucks into a pile, even going so far as to empty all the side pockets and attached pouches. Jimmy even took his hydration module off.

"I'd advise both of you to take your modules off and give them a good flush and clean. Run some Listerine through the tubes and clean the mouthpiece." Jimmy proceeded to take his module apart and put the mouthpiece in a glass. He poured it half full of Listerine, then added some water. "There. Feel free to add your pieces too. They're all different, so we don't need to worry about getting them confused."

The piles of stuff were soon sorted into food, not-food, necessary equipment, and trash.

Remy eyed the mess with disgust. "We gotta stop stuffin' junk in wherever. Nasty."

Tim picked up a wad of something, sniffed it, and said, "I wonder if we shouldn't wash our rucks, or at least spray them with Lysol or something."

Jimmy just handed him a can of the stuff. "Lemon scented."

"Okay." Tim sprayed the interior of his ruck, and all the pockets too. He handed the can to Remy, who did the same thing, then handed the can on. When it had made the rounds, Jimmy put it back in the cupboard under the sink.

Remy thought for a moment. "Why don't we all put all the stuff in a pile, take what we need, then take inventory and get restock?"

Jimmy had a better idea. "Divide it evenly between each ruck; make a pile, then take inventory, make a master list, and avoid confusion."

"Better." Tim got out a tablet. "I'll make a spreadsheet; someone start counting shit." So Tony, Remy, and Jimmy each took a pile of stuff and started counting.

When they were finished, Jimmy said wistfully, "Do you think we could get Abby to make some more of that trail mix? I love it. You know I hate raisins, so I'm always picking them out."

Tim shrugged. "I'll eat them but ... seriously. A raisin is nothing but a rotten, dried-up grape."

Remy grinned. "I'll take yo' share." He wound up pelted with handfuls of wadded trash. "Okay, okay. Y'all just don' know what's good." He got up to retrieve the mess and stuff it into the trash. "When we done, remin' me ta empty dat."

Tim finished his spreadsheet and said, "We need to each one stock up on protein bars, trail mix, MRE's, and medical supplies. I'll take all the med kits and restock them. Remy?"

"Good. I'll pull MRE's and protein bars. Jimmy, you get the hard job. Please call Miss Abby an' ask her real nice for a big bag o' mix, no raisins."

Jimmy snorted. "You're just afraid she'll try t' fix you up again."

Remy nodded. "Dat I am. Dat ... woman she fix me up wit'..." he shook his head sorrowfully. "She a hot mess. Broke up wit' her homme 'cause 'e was cheatin'. Cried all night an' wanted me ta tell 'er wha' she did wrong. Me ... I got away about 2100 and ran. No more fo' me. Seriously."

By the end of that, Tim, Jimmy, and Tony were all rolling on the floor. Ducky, who'd stood in the doorway to hear the story, announced, "I'll call young Abigail for you. Perhaps she'll have mercy on an old man and bring some of those oatmeal cookies with chocolate chips and nuts." He smiled genially and ambled off to make the call.

Tony shouted after him, "Old, my ass, Ducky!"

After that it didn't take them long to restock their rucks, as each one of them went to the pantry, got his allotted items, and passed them out.

Jimmy restocked each med kit with everything he thought each man should have, then stocked his ruck. It was still nearly a MASH Unit in a pack. He couldn't do major surgery or anything like it, but he had enough supplies that he could keep someone alive until the EMT's arrived. He had a bit of everything, but really stocked up on the mid-line stuff. And plenty of analgesics. Ducky approved, and that was enough.

Remy hefted the pack, then smiled. "Look like ya got dat down a bit. Good."

Jimmy nodded. "Ducky taught me a few tricks that I can do that eliminated about a third of the heavy instruments. More room for food and water ... and snacks."

There was a bit of laughter over that, but snacks were a lot more important than many people thought; hiking and trail running burnt up a lot more calories than most people thought. And NCIS got body dumps all over, mostly in rugged country. Rock Creek Park was a great deal more rugged than many people thought.

Tony brightened at a thought. "I know. We can get some peanut butter in those packets. That tub stuff is a mess. With the tube, just squeeze some into your mouth, then eat a cracker. No trying to dig it out of the tub, spread it, and not break the cracker."

Jimmy nodded. "And it's a good source of protein and some minerals as well as a good energy boost. Get me some too, please."

"Okay. Who wants?" Tony grinned at his friends as all three of them held up their hands.

It wasn't long before they were done with their work and had lists of stuff to get. They put their rucks aside and went to play poker with Ducky.

This was interesting, as Ducky had more than thirty years experience on any of them and a stone face to boot. He said he'd developed it years ago to keep from laughing in the face of certain people his mother entertained.

Ducky examined his cards. "One, please."

Tony dealt him a card and continued around the table. Remy took two, Jimmy folded, and Tim took three and got amused looks.

Ducky waited until everyone had made their bets, then said, in that mildly amused tone of his, "Read them and weep, gentlemen." He showed his hand of three of a kind—aces—and scraped the chips his way. "Well, last hand, wasn't it? I believe we should settle up."

Tony added up Ducky's chips and gave him the point total. "Okay, here's the bet slips."

Ducky gathered the slips of paper off the table and tallied them up. "So, Jimmy, you owe me four laundries. AJ, three trips of my choice. Tim ..." He squinted at the two papers. "What the devil does this chicken scratch say?"

Tim eyed the papers. "Two services of your choice."

"Ah. Very nice. Remy, two pots of gumbo. Delicious."

Tony gathered the cards and tapped them into order, while Tim and Remy sorted the chips into their box. Remy did a quick general cleanup and took the storage box to put away. Remy then said good night and left for GHQ.

Ducky, Tim, Jimmy, and Tony finished cleaning up the library, then gathered in the kitchen for one last cup of tea.

Jimmy set up the tea service while Remy put the water on to boil. Tony rummaged the cupboards for some cookies, and Tim set the table. It wasn't long before they were sitting at the table, waiting for the tea to brew.

Ducky sipped his tea for a moment, then said, "I hear you and your team are all up for a Wilderness Survival refresher."

"Yeah, nothing like a two-week trip into the ass-end of nowhere." Tony eyed his tea for a moment, then sighed. "Hate it in one way ... but it's time away from everything."

Tim shuddered, "Yeah, except bugs, critters, snakes, poison ivy, poison oak, poison sumac, and no bed, no laundry, no internet. You get the picture. No thanks."

Jimmy shrugged. "Can't be that bad. I mean, other than the obvious ... what could go wrong?"

Tony eyed him like he'd lost his mind. "Christ on a cracker, jinx us, why don't you? Jerk."

Jimmy eyed him right back. "Bitch."

"Oh, no! You did not just side-oogle me, you ..." Tony took a sip of his tea then shook his head. "Something's going to go wrong now, sure as death and taxes."

Ducky agreed. "The last time someone said that, Gibbs and I wound up in a French jail. He's still on very shaky ground with the Les Sables d'Olonne Gendarmerie." They all listened to Ducky ramble until the tea was gone, grinning every now and then when he 'tattled' on Gibbs.

.

Several days passed with nothing more than a case or two, so the whole group started on cold cases. Tony happened to remark, "I wonder why everything seems to go to shit while we're working cold cases? Really weird."

Jimmy, who was up with some files related to the cases, shuddered. "Ugh! Goose walked on my grave."

Dean draped an arm over his shoulder and said, "Wonder why people say that? You know?" Jimmy shook his head. "Maybe Ducky does."

"Probably. Gremlin, head back down and see if Ducky knows where these files are, please." Gibbs gave Jimmy a half sheet with some scribbled notes on it. "Thanks. You comin' back up for lunch?"

"Yes. Dean and I are going to go out to get sandwiches. We thought we'd get something from DeAngelo's. It's a nice walk. The weather is still nice, so we're taking advantage of it."

Cos stretched, working the kinks out of his back. "I'll come too. I'm so sick of this. I swear, cold cases are awful."

Gibbs gave him a swat then grumbled, "True, but it's bad taste to say so." He settled at his desk, then said, "I only hate them because ... I feel bad for the vic's family and pissed that some dirtbag got away with it." He pointed in the general direction of the group. "Get busy."

So Jimmy ambled away with his paper, and the rest of the Pod settled at desks to go over the two cold cases they were currently working. Gibbs was of the opinion the two were somehow connected; the rest were of the opinion that Gibbs was fishing.

.

The two pickup men settled in their "unnoticeable" Ford Fiesta and waited; their pick-up should show soon. All they had to do was find the target for pick-up; the actual pick-up would be done by another team in a van. One man dug out a thermos and poured coffee. "You want?" The other man shook his head. "Okay."

They watched for their targets, checking pictures from time to time, comparing them to people who resembled their men. It was nearly noon when one nudged the other. "There, Chief Warrant Officer Dean Cale and Chief Petty Officer Cosmo Richter. Call it in. Looks like they're headed for that restaurant."

They watched until the van made its first circle, then left.

.

Cos picked up his ruck. "I'm married to this thing until further notice. I swear, I'm sleepin' with it."

Dean nodded. "So true. They took one guy out of the shower. That's just messed up."

Jimmy picked up his ruck too. "I heard that team got in a lot of trouble. The subject nearly died."

Tony agreed. "So true, but I'd hang onto my ruck for true."

Gibbs handed Dean a list. "Here's what everyone wants. There's two orders, so someone bring back the one that's finished and the other two wait."

Cos nodded. "Gotcha."

The three friends trotted out the door, headed for the restaurant.

"Who's gonna take the first order back?" Jimmy hitched his ruck up; the straps had drifted, so it was now too loose.

Dean called a quick halt. "Okay, Jimmy, stop and fix that."

Dean and Cos waited patiently as Jimmy adjusted his straps. "Okay, that's good."

When they reached the restaurant, they stopped just inside the door to play rock, paper, scissors to figure out who went back first.

Cos crowed as he got paper against two rocks. Dean swatted him, saying, "Okay, jerk, gloat all you want. But we get the good stuff."

Cos snorted. "You're just mad cause I get back in time to get a good chair."

This was a constant source of annoyance; half the chairs in the conference room they used as a dining room were broken in some way. He got a raspberry from Jimmy and The Bird from Dean.

The first batch of food was ready, so Cos took it and left by a side door; by doing this, the white van didn't see him leave.

Jimmy and Dean decided to go back out to the sidewalk to wait for the rest of the food, as the restaurant was crowded. Dean told the delivery boy, who just nodded absently as he took notes from the phone. Dean didn't realize that the busy kid wrote "Delivery requested," on both tickets. No one would notice for more than an hour, as all tickets had to have addresses on them in case the order changed to delivery.

They were seated at a table on the sidewalk when a white van pulled up beside them, and six men jumped out and grabbed them right out of the café. The driver calmed a couple of startled customers by flashing a badge and telling the truth. "Relax. Calm down. I'm a survival trainer and we're just doing a pick-up for a surprise training trip. See?" He let an older man examine his credentials then went back to the van.

While he'd been calming the bystanders, his companions had been putting a sack over Dean and Jimmy's heads. "Relax. It's the pick-up. No talking. No fighting. If you do, we'll inject you. You're supposed to be dropped together, but give us shit and we'll separate you."

Jimmy protested, "I'm the wrong guy," and was told, "We've heard that a million times. Shut up."

So Dean and Jimmy sat quietly while the men searched them. One man started to search their rucks but was told, "No. We don't search those. Whatever they have in those would be on them in real life. The only things we take are their phones."

A second voice said, "And their watches. GPS in them ... not allowed. Clever bastard though."

That led to a bit of a struggle as both Dean and Jimmy were reluctant to give them up. Dean protested, "Yeah, and we never get them back, not to mention that we need them to find our way. Jerk."

This led to someone making a snarky comment of, "We don't. Your stuff is as safe as if it was in a bank."

"Yes and that still leaves us without something we'd have in a real situation."

The problem was sorted to everyone's mutual agreement by two of the pick-up crew giving up their watches. The confiscated property was put into a bag and labeled as to who it belonged to.

Then it started. They arrived at the airport and, while the crew weren't rough with them, they didn't help much either. Jimmy managed to step on one man's foot and kick another in the butt. When they complained, Jimmy just snarled, "Fuckin' blind here. Don't like it, let me take the damn sack off. Otherwise, fuck you." This did not go down well with the pick-up crew, but they knew better than to do anything about it.

Dean was also not happy. He hated being blindfolded, and did the same thing Jimmy was doing; he managed to trip, fall against a couple of the men, and knock both of them down. He then stepped on one man and kicked the other, defending the action by saying, "What the hell do you expect? I can't fuckin' see. You want me to be more careful, take off the sack. Otherwise, like Gremlin said, fuck you."

They were loaded onto a C-130 and told to go to sleep. Dean snarled, "I need the head. I don't know why we have to be blindfolded like this. What are we gonna do? We signed up for this shit, no need to mistreat us. Jerks."

Jimmy protested this at once. "I did not sign up for this fuckin' shit. Seriously. Wrong man here."

The pick-up crew was now thoroughly sick of Dean and Jimmy 'accidentally' kicking them, tripping and dragging them down with them, and generally being clumsy and excusing it by complaining that they were blind and couldn't help it. The sacks were removed and Jimmy and Dean blinked in the sudden glare. They saw that they were aboard a C-130 with several other pairs of men in the same situation that they were. Dean offered, "Well. It's not that bad. Except, I still need the head."

One of the pick-up crew pointed to a port-a-stool. "There. Hurry up. They'll take it off before take off ... which should be any minute now. And no funny stuff."

Dean just snorted. "Not me. You're no fun and I don't intend to give you any reason to tie me up. Jerk." He took care of business, closing the temporary canvas curtain.

The C-130 was finally loaded and took off. Dean eyed the watch he was wearing, realized that it was a fairly expensive diver's watch, and did some calculations. Hopefully, he'd be able to figure out their drop point.

The C-130 flew for over 18 hours. Dean frowned; due to various things, he needed to know which version of C-130 they were on. So he did the sensible thing and asked a crewman. The man frowned; they were not supposed to talk to these men but it was a simple request so he answered, "C-130J, sir."

Dean thanked the man then sighed. A C-130J was the fastest of the model with a cruising speed of 417 mph at 22,000 feet. And a range of nearly 2200 miles. They were going to wind up somewhere in Canada, or he missed his guess. At least it was late spring.

They landed twice to refuel and unload and take on cargo. The groups were kept apart but allowed to get off, use facilities, and walk around a bit. They were also fed. Most of the men slept as much as they could.

The last landing was somewhere in Canada as near as Dean could figure. The pick-up crews now gathered up their charges and their gear. Dean managed to hit the pick-up crew chief in the head with his ruck, shrugged apologetically, and trotted off in the direction he was pointed. Jimmy followed, leaving behind one bit of advice. "Man, you need to watch your blood pressure. Dude, chill."

They were handed over to the transport crew, much to the pick-up crew's relief, and put on a medium size Piper Cub. They dumped their rucks at their feet and the plane took off. Jimmy eyed the wide door with misgivings. "Um ... Dean ... you do realize that I have never parachuted ... ever. Right?"

Dean nodded. "And ... we're fucked. If you land wrong, we're screwed."

Jimmy frowned. "Maybe if we get dropped over water?"

"Nope. Hard as dirt from about 600 feet up."

"Well, shit."

The jump master eyed them for a moment then said, "You've both got huge rucks, which you get to keep. But I'm not havin' you jump with 'em. This is supposed to be an exercise in which you survive. So ... if you both agree to behave, we'll transfer you to a seaplane that's doing training runs and land you where you're supposed to be." He waited while Jimmy eyed Dean for a hint.

Dean nodded. "Okay. No sack, no rough handling, and we'll be good. You get too rough and all bets are off. I'll fuck a bitch up."

"Okay. Deal." The Petty Officer held out his hand and they all shook on it.

They landed at a Canadian Coast Guard Rescue station and the jump master hopped out. He flagged down someone and spent a few minutes talking to him. That man eyed the Piper, then nodded. He pointed to an HU-16 Albatross that was just getting ready to take off. This was actually a US Coast Guard asset that was on loan to Canada for training purposes.

It wasn't long before Jimmy and Dean were seated somewhere in its guts and, after another two hours' flight time, put out on a rickety dock in the middle of, as Dean sourly remarked, the fuckin' ass-end of no-fuckin'-where. The Albatross took off and waggled its wings before flying away.

Jimmy eyed the sky and announced, "We need a camp, like now."

Dean agreed but pointed. "We need to be away from here first. Bear."

Jimmy looked at where Dean was pointing. "What?"

"Bear scat. Right there." Dean pointed again.

Jimmy eyed the scat. "Okay. Doesn't look fresh."

"You really wanna take that chance?"

"Um ... no, not really."

So they shouldered their rucks and headed inland. Dean checked the sun's position and his watch, and did some mental calculations. "Okay, the whole idea of this is just to hunker down and survive this mess in as good a shape as possible. So ... we need to decided what we're really gonna do."

Jimmy shrugged. "I vote ... we walk out. Really. This area is not a good place. Bears ... no noticeable food sources ... no good camping places. What the actual fuck, anyway?"

Dean smirked a bit. "Really. They took our phones, watches, and GPS mods. But ... They didn't get the good stuff."

Jimmy made an enquiring noise as he stepped over a pile of brush.

"You know that Jet was complaining that they don't even teach orienteering and astronavigation anymore?" Dean stepped over the same pile just as carefully; it wouldn't do to mess up a leg at this early date.

"I do. He bitched for nearly an hour. He's been teaching me, and I've got a kit in the bottom of my ruck. Looks like a little Red Cross First Aid kit."

Dean cracked up. "Me too. Only mine looks like one of those box Bibles. We're cookin' with gas now."

Jimmy frowned. "And where did that expression come from?"

Dean held a branch out of his way. "Back in the day, everyone cooked on either wood or coal. Made a hell of a mess, what with clinkers and ash from coal or ash and charcoal chunks from wood, which all had to be hauled through the house in buckets. Although the charcoal was usually just left for next fire. So, when gas was introduced, it was really a great thing. Clean, easy to use, just turn on the main and go. So cooking with gas was new, good, faster, and just better all 'round."

Jimmy chuckled, "You're nearly as good a story-teller as Ducky."

Dean swatted Jimmy. "Who do you think I heard that from? Jerk."

"Bitch."

That being settled to both men's satisfaction, they walked on, trying to find a place to camp before dark.

.

Gibbs looked up as a delivery boy plopped a pile of boxes on his desk. "Gibbs?"

"That'd be me. What the hell?"

"Have no idea, man. All I know is the ticket said deliver, I delivered. Sign here." The boy was bored and not in the mood, so he just handed the book to Gibbs and waited while he read the ticket, signed, and waved him away.

"Where the hell are Dean and Jimmy? They should have brought that back thirty minutes ago." Gibbs got a nasty feeling in his gut. "Tim, trace their phones, activate their watches ... whatever."

Tim nodded, grabbed his food and returned to his desk. He typed furiously for a moment then settled back to eat his food and wait. It wasn't long before he snarled, "Son of a fuckin' bitch. Damnit! Both phones and both watches are ... at Quantico. I'll try to find out exactly where." He typed for a moment then swore, "Damnit! They're on the move. They're bunched up so tightly that they can't possibly be on them. Looks more like they're ... not sure. What the fuckin' hell?"

Gibbs hurried over, dropping his spaghetti on his desk, "What?" Remy, Cos, and Tony gathered behind him.

Cos turned white as he followed the path of the blips. "Oh, no. Fuckin' ... shit. They been snatched. Some jackwad picked up Jimmy instead of Cos."

Gibbs returned to his desk, grabbed his phone, and dialed. "I'll get hold of Belt and get this straightened out."

However both Captain Rafe McKinley, the East Coast Commander, and Lieutenant Sam Brown, his 2IC, were out of touch for the foreseeable future; Cheyenne Mountain was not taking messages.

Tony sighed, "And Remy and I are up for pick-up too. Now what?"

Gibbs thought for a moment then made a call. "George, you ol' dog, how's it?"

He listened for a few minutes then said, "Man, she's growin' up fast. Look, you know damn good an' well that I didn't call you just to chew the fat. Got a problem. Seems that some Squid picked up my man instead of a SEAL due for Wilderness Survival training. So ... yeah. Not good. And I've got two more due for pick-up. Need that pick-up dropped to the bottom of the list. Can you swing it?" He listened for a few more seconds then said, "Thanks, I owe you one," before hanging up. "Well, AJ, you and Remy are off the list. I owe George Sanderson a favor." He smirked, "But he was pretty pleased to get one over on the guy in charge of the pick-ups; doesn't like him for some reason but ... works for me."

Tony shrugged. "I don't care about the training. Been there, done that. But ... what are we gonna do about Gremlin gettin' picked up?"

"I'm gonna see Vance. But ..." he shrugged. "Not really too worried ... he's with Dean, right? And both of them know real orienteering ... I taught all of you myself. So..." he paused for a moment then said, "Tim, you call Abby and tell her. Cos, run down and let Ducky know, then stay there to help him."

Gibbs trotted up the stairs two at a time, nodded to Cynthia and opened the door to Director Vance's office. "Leon, you'll never believe this one. I swear."

Leon Vance looked up from a boring report on things he didn't care about. "If it's about one of yours, probably will. What?"

"As you know, AJ, Remy, Dean, and Cos are due for survival training, okay? Well, the pick-up fucked up and nabbed Jimmy. How they could mistake Jimmy for Cos, I'm not entirely sure. And we can't get McKinley or Brown on the horn as they're in the depths of Cheyenne Mountain doing something classified with something classified. So ... just so you know."

Leon opened his mouth, closed it, blinked a couple of times then snickered, "Only your bunch, Jethro, only your ..." he didn't manage to finish his sentence as he was laughing too hard.

Gibbs gave him a rather hot glower, but allowed, "Yeah, only my bunch." Then he started laughing too.

.

Cos ambled into the morgue just in time for Ducky to offer him tea. "Thanks, Duck. You'll never believe this. I'm to be your new assistant until Jimmy gets back from wilderness survival. He got picked up with Dean instead of me. Ain't that the shits?"

Ducky eyed Cos for a moment then shrugged. "I have no doubt that he'll be fine. Dean is capable and so is Jimmy. Sugar?"

"Please."

Since Cos had brought down his lunch and Ducky had his, they settled in to finish their meals and discuss what Cos would do for Ducky. It turned out that Cos thought he was going to be dumb muscle while Ducky intended that he be much more. Cos just shrugged and said, "Whatever, Doc; you say, I do. Simple."

.

Abby caught movement out of the corner of her eye. "Tim! Hey!"

Tim turned the music off; it was never ear-bleedingly loud anymore, but it was still hard to talk over. "Um ... Abby ... I ... um. ..." Tim knew he wasn't good at this sort of thing. Telling Abby anything that might set her off on one of her hysterical tirades always choked him up.

Abby eyed Tim for a moment then got right up in his face. "You know something I should know. Speak."

"Um ... You know that all four SEALs were supposed to be picked up for wilderness survival, right?" Abby nodded. "Well, some Squid fucked up and they snatched Dean and Jimmy; instead of Dean and Cos. Cos brought back food and left Jimmy and Dean to bring back the rest. Um ... and we can't trace them by their watches or phones."

Abby bounced. "Sure we can. All you have to do is ... but you know that. So?"

"The pick-up took them. Don't know why they took the watches. But I'm sure they took the phones so they couldn't use the GPS; maybe they figured out that the watches have more functions than just telling time?"

Abby scowled at the thought of not knowing where her two friends were. "I don't like that. You know it's a really bad thing, not to have some sort of locater on them. Why? I mean ... that's just dumb."

Tim agreed but, after a moment's thought, said, "Well, it's tradition. You know the Navy is real big on that shit."

"Still stupid. What if something horrible happens to them and they can't get in touch with anyone. What if they get mauled by a bear, or a wolf, or ... or a moose?"

Tim frowned. "I think they do a fly-over every 48, if there's real trouble they can signal with a mirror or something. Other than that? A moose? Abby? Seriously?"

Abby sighed. "Tim, find out who the jackwads are that okayed the pick-up, and who actually did it. All of them."

Tim stuck out his lower lip, making him look about 16. "Abby."

"Now, Tim."

Tim just grinned. "Tonight. Meet me at the Java Pot; we'll use their Wi-fi." He grinned, "Unless Gibbs tells me to do it."

Abby grinned back. "I like the way you think." As usual, something binged and she hurried off to deal with it.

.

After splashing through a stream, Dean called a halt. "We need to stop a sec. I'm beginning to chafe."

Jimmy sighed, reluctant to stop but well aware that, if they didn't powder down now, they'd bleed later. "Okay. You got dry socks?"

"I do. And I'm gonna hang the wet ones off my ruck, hope they dry before we have to put shit away." Dean dropped his ruck on the ground and rummaged for dry socks and a shaker of powder. "What kind of powder do you use now?"

"Monkey Butt. It's good for everything. Got zinc, talc, and menthol in it. Don't use it on your nuts, though."

"Big ol' no to menthol on sensitive bits." Dean produced an unlabeled plastic shaker and waved it at Jimmy. "Abby made this. She said to use the pink on feet and chafing, and the white on what she called delicate areas. She should have given you some."

Jimmy admitted, "She did ... I think. She gave Ducky a box for me but it's still on my dresser. She only gave it to Ducky yesterday."

Dean checked his ruck. "Okay. Socks. Abby knits the best socks. And ... I've got enough powder to share if you need."

Jimmy shrugged. "I've got a shaker of powder and a bag of refill. I should be good. Let's get powdered and go."

"On it."

They finished putting on powder and dry socks. A final rummage brought out the orienteering gear.

They kept going for another half hour and were lucky enough to find a good clearing to pitch their tents in. Jimmy snickered, then said, "I bet that bunch a' jackwads would be surprised at what we've got."

"I wouldn't touch that one with a ten-foot pole." Dean opened his tent and mated it to Jimmy's, giving them nearly three times the room of two un-mated tents. "There. Start the stake-down, and I'll find some wood. How many fire-starters do you have?"

Jimmy thought a moment. "I've got two magnesium strikers and a big pack of dryer lint. You?"

"Same. Plus I've got a camping mirror with a lens in it."

Jimmy silently regretted the fact that the pick-up crew had told them to turn over their GPS or they'd find them themselves and take anything else that struck their fancy. They'd turned them over with a lot of bitching and moaning. But, as AJ said, "Wish in one hand, shit in the other, and see which one fills up first."

Dean soon returned with a huge armload of wood and set to making a fire in the fire ring Jimmy had made after he was done with the tents and sleeping bags.

After the fire was started, Dean and Jimmy both started to say something. Dean said, "Bread an' Butter. You start."

Jimmy also said, "Bread an' Butter." then continued, "I think we ought to take inventory to see what we've got, then reorganize the packs so that we each have some of everything. Just in case."

So they took everything out of their rucks, putting it on a ground cloth. It turned out that they had, between them, twenty MRE's. Jimmy also had a few backpacking meals which Dean eyed with some disfavor.

"And you have these ... why?"

The standard MRE was 3"x12"x8" and contained 1250 calories; consisting of a main, side, bread, spread, desert, candy, drink mix and 'comforts' such as Tabasco, TP, spork, wet wipe, chewing gum, sugar, salt, pepper, matches and some other things. It also contained a flameless heater pack; just add water to the line and wait.

The standard backpacker meal had a main. That's right, just one single freeze-dried something, usually a casserole-type portion, a total of 400 to 500 calories. If you wanted anything else, you had to pack it separately. So Dean's skepticism was warranted.

Jimmy grinned. "It's pancake mix with blueberries. I've got a fry pan that'll make a nice 6" cake. There's also syrup in the package."

Dean laughed, read the instructions, then said, "There's enough to make six cakes, three each. Yum."

Jimmy waved an object. "Got four straws. You?"

Dean rummaged in his things for a moment. "Me, too." Since what they called straws were actually water purification devices that made almost any water source drinkable, this was important.

When they finished, they checked each pile to make sure that each of them had some of everything. Finally satisfied, they settled in for a supper of MRE's and extra coffee. They kept the fire low to conserve wood, but high enough to keep bears and wolves at bay.

They sat, sipping their coffee until the sun was completely down. Dean swallowed the last of his coffee, stood up, and said, "Best hit the rack. Early morning tomorrow."

Jimmy nodded, finished his own coffee, and agreed. "Right. And we should get up early enough to shoot the sun; we should shoot ... Mars, and the North Star as well."

Right." Dean looked up. "North Star there." he pointed, and Jimmy snickered, "Right. I know you know where it is, but ... meh."

Jimmy dug out his equipment and took a reading from the North Star and Venus. Mars wasn't visible yet.

Dean did the same, and they compared results; since they were only a hundredth of a degree off from each other, they called it a win and went to bed.

Dean eyed the setup of the sleeping bags and announced, "Okay, I stink?"

Jimmy sat down and started taking off his boots. "No. But I figure it's warm enough that we should be more comfortable in our own bags." He peeled his shirt off, thinking that he was glad he was wearing a flannel. His pants followed, carefully folded.

"Okay, but it's gonna be colder than you expect. But ... meh ... whatever." Dean also took off his boots, socks, shirt, and trousers. He left his t-shirt and shorts on.

They both crawled into their sleeping bags and settled down to sleep. Dean, ever the comic, said, "Good night, Jimmy."

Jimmy grumbled, "Night ... jerk."

"Bitch."

.

The next morning was chill and a bit damp, Dean was up and had the fire built up while Jimmy broke camp, putting the sleeping bags, ground pads, and tents into their storage sleeves and repacking them.

"Food." Dean offered Jimmy his choice, "Breakfast burrito or cheesy hashbrowns and sausage. I put all the extras in here." he waved two zip-lock bags at him.

"Coffee and the burrito please." Jimmy stuffed his bag into his ruck and settled down to drink coffee and eat the burrito.

Dean sat on his tri-stool and guzzled coffee and forked a bite of his cheesy hashbrowns into his mouth. His expression was priceless. "Oh, man, that's just foul. Where did you get this shit?"

"I'm one of the testers for new meals. Bad?" Jimmy smirked a bit.

"It's disgusting. The potatoes are ... paste and the cheese is ... too salty and sorta like that cheap nacho cheese shit some places pass off as food. The sausage is ..." he took another bite, chewed for a bit then said, "bland. Is there any more pepper?"

"I'll let you have mine and the Tabasco. Here." Jimmy passed over the tiny bottle of Tabasco and a packet of pepper.

Dean dumped, sprinkled and stirred; he took another bite, grimaced but said, "Well, the texture is still somewhat like lumpy wallpaper paste, but the taste is ... better. Not good but ... better." He quickly finished his meal, made a cup of tea, and settled back to wait for Jimmy.

He didn't have long to wait; the burrito was soon gone, and Jimmy took his own cup of tea. "The tea is good. The coffee is better. And they put in another pack of creamer and sugar. I don't know why anyone would want artificial sugar ... just ... yuck." Jimmy's opinion of artificial sweetener was well known and on the order of, if you don't want sugar, take it plain.

They took secondary readings and realized that they had been dumped on the southeastern shore of Hudson's Bay. Jimmy frowned, then said, "I should know where something is ... it'll come to me."

Dean just shrugged. "Okay. We need to head South and East, that's where nearly everything is. Maybe we'll hit a working logging camp or a trading post or something."

.

Gibbs eyed his computer with disgust. "AJ, find me a phone number, this ... thing is shit. Can't get past Contact Us. Jackwads." He poked at his keyboard. "I wanna have a few words with the CO of the pick-up crew."

Tony just picked up Gibbs phone and dialed. He tossed the phone back saying, "Ringing now. Have fun."

Gibbs listened to the phone ring; when someone picked up he just said, "I'd like to speak to Lieutenant Davis. He has a problem."

Tony couldn't resist, he reached over and put the phone on speaker. Tim, Dorneget, Remy, and Cos gathered around.

Gibbs was usually considered a yeller; his close friends knew better. If he was yelling, he was mildly pissed to annoyed; when he got calm and quiet… well, Tony's advice was, "Just run; keep running until you pass out."

Gibbs got Lieutenant Davis on the line and said, "You have a problem. You've picked up the wrong man."

Lieutenant Davis was not inclined to agree. "How can you be sure? My people are experts at pick-up. They've never failed a pick-up."

Tony snickered. Gibbs glared at him. "Sorry, Jet. Just ..." he waved Cos forward.

"Chief Petty Officer Cosmo Richter here, sir. And not on some C-130 headed for the ass-end of nowhere."

Lieutenant Davis yelped, then demanded, "Then who the hell did my crew pick up?"

"Dr. Jimmy Palmer, Ph.D."

"Who the hell is that?"

"Someone who doesn't look anything like Richter. He's about three inches shorter and the coloring is totally different. So ... What knuckle-dragging, cretinous, careless squid picked up the wrong man? And how the hell did they manage it? Enquiring minds want to know." Gibbs' tone of voice would have frozen an Inuit.

Lieutenant Davis took a deep breath. "I realize that you're upset, but you have to understand..."

Gibbs cut him off. "No, actually, I don't have to understand. It's clear that you're nothing but a bean-counting desk-jockey. This is inexcusable. I'll be starting an inquiry into your procedures."

"And what gives you the right?"

"Let me introduce myself again. Special Agent and Team Lead of the Major Crimes Response Team Leroy Jethro Gibbs, Master Gunnery Sergeant, United States Marine Corp, Retired. I'll be speaking to our Director shortly ... unless you can come up with a decent explanation ASAP."

The lieutenant gave up. "Okay, I'll be asking all my crews how this could have happened. I'll send you a report if you like. And I'll make sure this will never happen again. Also, we can send a crew to pick them up ... I think."

Tony took over, completely ruining the man's day. "You think? With what? How you managed to pick up Gremlin instead of Scorpion I'd like to know. This is unacceptable behavior. What if you'd picked up some civilian and dumped them in the sticks alone? You really want to contemplate the consequences of that? And you're on report, as well as every man on that pick-up crew. I'll expect particulars immediately. Get your act together."

"And who the hell are you?" The lieutenant was evidently a slow learner.

"Lt. Cmdr. Anthony Jethro DiNozzo, United States Navy SEAL. And a senior field agent with NCIS. I'll also be speaking to Director Vance and SecNav. You're in a hurt locker, mister. Names better be on my desk in ten." He gave his fax number, then nodded to Gibbs, who hung up on the man's sputtered protests.

"Well, that went well." Tony shook his head.

Director Vance had happened to walk by in the middle of the conversation and stopped to listen. "I'll be happy to back your play with SecNav. This is really unacceptable. Do you think Dr. Palmer will be all right?"

"Yeah, he's with Dean Cale. Beside the fact that he was a Boy Scout, and we've trained him ourselves. He'll be fine. It's just the fact that some fuckin' jackwad made this kind of mistake ... it's really worrying. Seriously ... what if they'd picked up some totally unprepared civvie?"

Vance sighed. "It is a valid concern. I think I'll put someone on some sort of investigation. Not sure exactly what yet, but I intend to spoil several people's day. Maybe even their week." He nodded and headed for his office to start raining hell down on some heads.

.

Jimmy finished tying his boots ―he'd had to let the laces out a bit― then stood up. "Okay. I'm ready. My feet were a bit swollen this morning, so I had to let the laces out. We should stop about 1300 to set up camp and try to find some fish or game."

Dean agreed with the plan. "Great. Keep an eye on those boots and don't let 'em get too damn loose. Fish would be nice. I've got that big frying pan, and you've got a smaller one. Be nice if we could find some wild onions or some cattail roots."

"That's easy; we're gonna follow the stream downhill; we just keep an eye out for some and take a few to get them. We're not in any hurry, are we?"

Dean thought about that for a moment. "Not really. Everyone knows where we are, more or less. And no one is gonna be worried, no more than is reasonable at any rate ... so ... we'll take our time. Wonder where the fuck we are exactly."

Jimmy frowned for a moment. "I can figure it out on the next shoot ... maybe. Really wish we'd managed to keep our watches or a GPS. But ... we can figure out close enough. Might get really lucky and run across a logging road; they usually sign them fairly well. Wouldn't do to have a truck loaded with expensive logs get lost."

Dean laughed at that. "No, wouldn't do at all." He turned his head. "Oh, look, artichokes." He walked over and began to dig out some of the roots. No one thought it odd at all that he carried a collapsible trenching shovel in his ruck.

Jimmy didn't carry a shovel, he had an extra blue pad and ground cloth, as well as an odd contraption that he'd made out of a coat hanger. He called it a Marine clothesline. It hooked onto the back of his ruck and made it possible to hang socks, shirts, and underwear off the back of his ruck. Trousers and jeans were too heavy for the wire. He usually washed socks and underwear at night and, if they weren't dry, hung them off the back of his pack. They dried by noon. Heavier items he just draped over the back of his pack.

After making sure the fire was out and they'd either burned or packed all the trash and not forgotten anything, they headed out southward.

They took their time, admiring the scenery and enjoying the fresh air and sunshine. Jimmy sighed. "It's nice, you know? I love my job but sometimes ... well, the smells are a bit much, and I've been taking Vitamin D to make up for the lack of sunshine."

Dean nodded. "Yeah, I've noticed that you're in the morgue eight to twelve hours a day, and days off are damn thin on the ground… have been for months."

"I swear, some days I don't know whether I'm coming or going. Ducky's a rock ... or a machine ... not sure which. You'd think that, at his age, he'd wear out quicker. But I'm usually the one who needs a damn nap. I'm planning on making this a mini-vacation."

"Okay. I'll teach you how to fish." Dean waited.

"Deano. I know how to fish. Even have one of those collapsible rods." Jimmy poked Dean in the ribs.

Dean danced away from Jimmy's stiffened fingers. "No, you don't. You loaned it to Dorneget, remember?"

Jimmy blinked, realizing that he hadn't seen his rod when they repacked last night. "Well, shit. So ... teach me to fish?"

"Hand-fishin' is illegal but ... since we're in a survival situation, it's allowed. I'll teach you how."

They walked along, taking their time, which was a good thing, as they came across a very grumpy bear, just awakened from hibernation and looking for food. They eased around the bear, keeping downwind, and were soon clear. Dean sighed, then whispered, "That was fuckin' close; at least it was a boar. I'd hate to run across a sow with cubs. No damn way we'd have made it around the cubs. Those little devils have more curiosity than ten barrels of monkeys."

Jimmy nodded then pointed. "Trail."

"Deer."

"Follow it?"

"Yeah, it's going th' right way."

They turned onto the path and followed it at a leisurely pace, watching the surrounding area for bears or other beasts with teeth and claws. Jimmy was also looking for edible plants. He didn't find much, as it was too early in the season.

Dean also looked for anything worth gathering. "I don't think we'll find much in the way of foraging. It's too early in the season. You only found those artichokes because you know what you're looking at when you see something. I'm glad we're both trained. Anyone else would starve."

Jimmy sighed. "You're right. I'm looking forward to some salmon. There are salmon around here, right?"

"Sorry. Only trout. We're too far inland for salmon. But there's bound to be rabbits and stuff. We could catch a couple and add them to a vegetarian MRE."

Jimmy made a face. "Cobra! What the actual fuck are you doing with veggie meals? Those are mostly nasty."

"Well, I lost a fuckin' bet with Badger. Asshole that he is, he made me trade my meatloaf for ..." Dean thought for a moment. "Um ... pink lentil something with mixed veggie side. Blah! And bean burrito with cheese and sauce." He made a face of disgust. "But, if we add meat, it might work."

Jimmy agreed rather doubtfully. "Okay ... if you say so. What else do we have that we can add to?"

Dean shrugged. "We can add something to almost anything. The best ones to supplement are anything that's a stew. You've got the inventory, so it's up to you."

"Okay. Are we going to try to conserve resources, or just eat and worry later?"

"We're going to eat and worry later. I think we'll do better if we don't short ourselves until we have to. We might even reach civilization before we run out of food. Or find some other source of food. We'll just play it by ear." Dean pointed. "There. We'll stop for a bit, have some coffee and rest."

Jimmy nodded. "Okay. While we're thinking. Will you eat greens? I don't remember if you ate them at Ma'mere's or not."

"I'll eat them. I like 'em with bacon and onions but ... what we find, we eat. In a situation like this ... we eat what we find. If you don't like it, hold your nose."

Jimmy snickered. "Right. So, keep an eye out for dandelions, or mustard or sorrel. Fiddle-head ferns ... might be a bit early, but we can check in the low spots. Watercress and morels ... um ... nuts ... might be lucky and find some wild rice. Although it's not actually rice. It's going to be last year's stand, and this isn't really the area for it, but we can look. You remember anything?"

Dean ducked a low branch. "Not really, but I'll know stuff when I see it."

"Yeah, isn't that always the way of it?"

They walked in companionable silence until they found a place to stop for lunch. As they'd decided the MRE's were to be eaten as needed, they each picked something and settled in to make it up.

Once the heater packs were started, they set to examining their equipment and boots. Nothing was worse than having a pack strap or boot lace break right in the middle of climbing a rock face or crossing a stream.

Jimmy cheerfully admitted to having four pairs of boot laces, a collection of Dominators, T-points, buckles, Grimlocks, and speed clips; all in a pouch on his harness. He also had a sewing kit and grinned as he admitted to making Abby teach him how to darn the socks she knit for them, sew on a button, and fix a ripped seam.

Dean eyed Jimmy for a moment then announced, "Dude, I'm so proud of you. That's ... incredible. I can't even thread a damn needle." He showed his weight-bar-and-shooting-calloused hands. "Can't feel the thread."

Jimmy snorted rather rudely. "And you all make fun of me for wearing workout gloves and shooting gloves. What kind of doctor would I be if my hands were so calloused that I can't thread a needle?" He poked at his MRE. "You think that's hot yet?"

Dean eyeballed the MREs. "Probably. It only takes about five minutes."

They checked the food and found that it was warm enough to eat, so they settled in. After finishing their meal, they gathered all the trash to be burned that night.

"Okay, we're off."

"In more ways than one."

"Jerk."

"Bitch."

.

Tim McGee was really a nice, mild-mannered person; until you fucked with one of his. And this was fucked up and then some. "How the hell did they not ... I mean ... Christ on a cracker, Jimmy and Cos don't look anything alike. What did they do? Or not do? Or ... fuck."

He sat fuming until Gibbs said in a kindly tone, "Don't bust a blood vessel; do something."

"What?"

Gibbs shrugged. "I don't know. Fuck with them somehow. You're the computer nerd, figure it out."

So Tim did a search of public documents within the Navy database and found a list of all the pickup staff, neatly subdivided by crew. A secondary search gave him the crew that was responsible for the SNAFU. He realized that Tony had a list, so he demanded it and cross checked; it wouldn't do to mess with the wrong people. He happily cancelled all their leaves and put them all on report. He also cancelled their credit cards, unless they were married; then he just cancelled their access to the accounts. He blocked access to savings and other sources of funds. Finally, he put a timer on the whole mess which returned everything except the leave and report to the former settings in four days.

Tony watched as Tim worked; he knew enough to be able to figure out what Tim was doing, but not enough to do it himself. He spent a bit of time quietly snickering to himself. "Digimon, you're mean."

"I am. I truly am. But ... They messed with the wrong people. If either Dean or Jimmy actually get hurt, I'll ruin the lot of them."

Gibbs chuckled darkly. "Then I'll fuck 'em up."

It was a consensus; everyone agreed that the team that had grabbed the wrong man deserved what they got. There was no excuse for their carelessness. This could have turned out so much worse.

Jimmy eyed the stream with a doubtful expression. "You sure?"

Dean moved to stand behind Jimmy, saying, "I am." He tucked his arm under Jimmy's and pointed. "See? Right there. Wait a second and you'll see when it moves."

Jimmy did as instructed, and soon the trout wiggled just a little. "Yeah, I see it. Why did it do that?"

"Keeping position. They like to get under the edges of the banks. Insects fall into the water there and ... yay! Lunch."

"Okay. So ... you're going to just stick your hand into the water and grab one?" Jimmy eyed the slippery-looking fish.

"More or less." Dean went on to explain how to hand-fish, then said, "And the other way is to wade out and wait for one to get curious and come to you. But I'm not too thrilled with that, as the water is damn cold this early in the year."

Jimmy shuddered. "No, not good at all. So, what am I supposed to do?"

"You wait on this bank; I'll catch a fish and toss it to you, you kill it. Then I'll try again. Hopefully, I can catch a couple for each of us. After I finish my catch, I'll clean them while you see if you can't find some ramps and greens."

"Okay." Jimmy took Dean's ruck and put it with his own, then went down to stand on the water's edge, careful to keep his shadow off the water. Dean would be flaming pissed if he scared the fish off; not to mention that they'd either go hungry or use up another MRE that they might need later on.

It wasn't long before Dean was across the stream and lying on his stomach on the bank. He eased his hand into the water and just let it hang. A few moments later, he grabbed a fish and tossed it to Jimmy. Jimmy grabbed it out of the air and smacked its head into a tree.

A second fish soon followed the first, and Dean carefully made his way back to camp, foraging on the way. He found some dried winter blackberries, a few fiddleheads, and some greens and ramps, so he was very pleased with himself.

Jimmy returned to his self-assigned task of gathering firewood when Dean returned to the camp. He'd also set up the tents and sleeping bags so they wouldn't have to mess with it later. Dean nodded his approval and took the fish to clean.

While he was doing that, Jimmy dumped his armload of wood and began to make preparations for their supper. He had a roll of foil in his pack, so he put the fiddleheads and greens in one package and chopped the ramps. Dean returned with the cleaned fish and settled in a squat to stuff the fish with ramps and the berries. After wrapping the fish in foil they settled down to wait for the fire to produce the coals they needed to cook their food.

It wasn't that long until there were enough coals to start cooking. Dean placed the packages near the fire, then covered them with sand from the stream. Then he used his camp shovel to cover the sand with coals.

Jimmy filled a billy-can from the stream and set it on the opposite side of the fire to boil water for coffee. They had quite a collection of drink packets, as they all collected the leftover "comforts" from MRE's and kept them in zip-lock bags. Jimmy tended to accept tea from the others and give them the hot cider and lemonade that he didn't like. Dean, on the other hand, traded his tea for coffee, cider and hot chocolate. Gibbs didn't like anything but the coffee, and he wasn't too fond of that, so he gave everything else to the nearest person. Since they had odd numbers, that tended to be Jimmy or Tim. Tim gave what he didn't like to Jimmy.

They settled in to make their drinks and eat their fish, happy to do so in companionable silence.


	2. Chapter 2

The fly-over scheduled for the second day was captained by a pilot that had been involved in the program for over ten years. He was used to men trying to signal him down, and very good at telling if they were in true distress or not. He was not used to not finding his target at all.

He radioed back to command and was told to widen his search pattern at least 50 miles, then report back.

He did so and thought he saw a campfire and two men, but they were under heavy cover so he did a second fly-over to try to see better. He finally saw two men waving at him, so he made a third pass. He was very relieved when his co-pilot announced, "Mirror flash. A - o - k."

The pilot waggled his wings and headed back to command, telling the com officer he'd found his target and giving their location. The navigator grumbled, then announced, "Holy fuck. They're walkin' out, or I miss my guess. They're BAMF for sure."

"And I heard one of them was a SNAFU of epic proportions. The pick-up crew grabbed a civvie. Hell of a mess."

The navigator added, "Those guys are part of Lt. Cmdr. DiNozzo's group; they call themselves the Pod. The PTB cancelled the rest of the group's exercise, seems DiNozzo had a fit. Not to mention the NCIS Team Lead ... um ... Gibbs. Seems he threw a fit too."

The pilot shook his head. "Leroy Jethro Gibbs?" At the co-pilot's nod, he just started snickering. "Gibbs. Served with him in Desert Shield. Marine, tough as an old boot, and ... inventive. Very inventive. Pity the poor fool that really got on his bad side."

They did a bit of radioing back and forth with command, realized that there was no place to land and pick the men up, so they returned to their home base, landed, and went to fill out paperwork, including detailed information on exactly where they'd found each group and how they looked.

.

Gibbs hung up his phone and called everyone to his desk. "Okay, everyone! Just got a call from ... a guy I know. The guys are fine. Overflight was accomplished; they signaled that they're okay. And walking out. They've already made thirty miles."

Cos chuckled, "That's my partner. He's no more one to sit on his ass and wait than any of us."

Remy laughed. "He is dat. Man's a wild-man. An' Jimmy ... he bad ass too."

The rest of the group all chuckled at memories of someone mistaking Jimmy's good nature for weakness. The results were usually unpleasant for the other person. Tim was another; what Abby called a 'tired tiger', nothing much to look at until you messed up, then you needed to just run.

They all returned to their duties. Gibbs was impressed with Dean, Cos, and Remy. They'd been assigned to him to learn the ropes so that SEALs had an in-house investigative team. Gibbs was reporting directly to Captain McKinley; all his reports were glowing. Gibbs was pretty sure he had a complete team that he was going to fight to keep.

Tony picked up his phone and called Ducky, then Abby; when they both picked up, he put them on conference and said, "Gibbs just got a call from the Wilderness Survival Group leader. They did a fly-over and eyeballed everyone. Jimmy and Dean are fine ... and they're walkin' out. Figured Dean would want to. Last time we did this, Remy and I walked out. Spent a week in Vegas." He snickered evilly and hung up.

"Well, that's just great."

The whole bullpen looked up at the speaker.

Director Vance wasn't sure whether he was pleased or terrified. It was astonishing that Dean and Jimmy decided to walk out on their exercise. This meant that they were going to hike nearly 300 miles to the nearest town, if they didn't miss it.

"How the hell are they going to find a town? Are they sure they're going in the right direction?"

Tony shrugged. "If they had a GPS or even a phone, I wouldn't be worried. But ... they don't even have a paper map."

Gibbs agreed with that but did say, "They've both got their Celestial navigation kits. They'll be able to find their latitude and longitude within about fifty feet. If they had any kind of reliable map they'd be set."

Dorneget shrugged, "They should be okay. Jimmy is a mine of odd information. Do. Not. Play Trivial Pursuits with him. Seriously. He should know the location of several cities. I hope."

Everyone brightened at that.

.

Jimmy thought carefully as they went. He knew the latitude and longitude of several cities, but they were all in the US. This was Canada, and he only knew the location of a few major cities, and the original location of the Hudson's Bay Trading Post. Not much help. But he did know a few locations that might be useful. "Dean, is it any help that I know the location of three places around here?"

"Depends. Are they within about 300 miles?"

"Maybe. The biggest problem is going to be that we're on the wrong side of a fairly wide river to Fort Rupert or to Eastmain. Either one of them. Eastmain, I mean."

Dean sideoogled Jimmy then said, "SEAL. Man, we can fuckin' swim almost any damn river we come to. What's the matter with you?"

"Nothing. I'm just really, really not interested in swimmin' some fuckin' freezin' damn river. I'm delicate like that."

"Wuss."

"Jerk."

Dean got back to business. "Both Eastmains? What ... like East and West or something?"

"No there's two sites named Eastmain. No idea why and they're about twenty miles apart. One's on the coast of Hudson's Bay, it's a city, the other is inland. The one inland ... no idea, there's not actually anything there, just a chunk of land called Eastmain." He carefully stepped over a log. "The city is a Cree settlement, used to be one of the Hudson's Bay Trading Company sites."

Dean thought about that for a bit, then asked, "You have any idea where it is in relation to where we are?"

"I'm pretty sure we're headed in its general direction. But it's across the James Bay from us. If we go back to the shore, it'll be easier hiking, and we can cast inland to forage. What do you think?"

"I think we have a plan. If we follow the river inland, it'll be easier to swim."

Jimmy shook his head. "Might be narrower, but the farther inland we go, the steeper the banks will be. I think we ought to play that by ear. We might even luck out and be able to signal a boat or something."

"Might," Dean agreed. "Wonder if that's considered cheating?"

"Huh. No idea. But, if we were stranded for real, we'd signal a garbage scow. Right?"

"Yeah, point." Dean ducked under a low-hanging limb, then swore as his pack snagged.

Jimmy unhooked the snag, then said, "Hold still a sec." He tucked the flap back in and moved the retainer to hold it down. "There. I'm about ready for lunch. And don't forget, we've still got a lot of Abby's trail mix. She actually sat me down and had me help her create the best mix. It's nutritional, high in energy-supporting foods, and low fat." He frowned. "Not sure why fat is a bad idea in this sort of situation but ... I do like those chocolate buttons. She found a source of high-melting-point chocolate."

Dean agreed. "Yeah, and it's really good. She used light raisins too. And roast salted mixed nuts. I hate raw nuts."

They happily munched on a handful of mix as they walked. This was soon gone, and they set their minds to eating up ground. It was just two hundred miles to Eastmain by Jimmy's calculations, so they had decided to make a hard march of it to get it over with. Dean was of the opinion that, if they made it to civilization in good time, the rest of the two weeks was theirs to do as they pleased.

This put them both in a good mood and made their day much better. That was good because the Canadian mosquitoes were the size of sparrows and bit, as Dean said, like gadflies. Jimmy had some repellant, but it didn't seem to work on them. Dean was disgusted to realize that his tube was so near empty that it didn't even register; he got one use out of it, and it didn't work well either.

They ate lunch on the move, stopping long enough to set up their MRE's, but they tucked them into an outside pocket and kept going until they were hot.

Jimmy had beef stroganoff, and Dean got some sort of tuna thing. He poked at it, then demanded, "Who decided pairing tuna with wild rice was a good idea? And this ... cheese is ... gross."

Jimmy took the pack out of Dean's hand and read the label. "It's not cheese ... it's pseudo-cheese made out of soy and ... not sure what guar gum has to do with it."

Dean shrugged and took his meal back. "It's a gluten-free thickener. It's actually relatively good; natural, only a little processing. But it has a ... greasy-mouth feel that I'm not fond of. But," he shrugged again, "it's food and, as these things go, not that bad."

They spent the afternoon hiking and discussing the foods they were going to eat when they reached civilization again. They both agreed that one of Tony's Italian banquets was definitely on the list. They also wanted sushi, burgers and fries a la Gibbs, and Cowboy Steak. Ducky's Cornish pasties also made the list.

Dean finally stopped. "This looks good."

Jimmy glanced around the clearing. "Yeah. And there's a stream just there. Hear it?"

"I do. You break out the buckets and get water, I'll do the tents? You want to mate the tents or what?"

Jimmy hated sleeping in a single tent and would do just about anything to get out of it. "You know I like them mated. Keeps the tent warmer for one thing. Jerk."

"Bitch." Dean started digging in his pack for the tent, blue pad, and sleeping bag which were at the bottom. Jimmy got out the buckets and headed for the stream.

After housekeeping was finished, they settled by the fire to wait for water to boil and their meals to heat. They lounged comfortably, leaning on easy-backs that Dean had made from cut branches and some canvas. Jimmy was always surprised by what-all the SEALs could accomplish with next to nothing. They speculated on what the terrain would be like, what obstacles they might encounter, and how large the settlement was, and if there was an airport or even a train station.

Jimmy settled back after throwing his trash into the fire. "I'm still a bit hungry. We should take every three or four days off, camp and forage. Trail mix?"

Dean nodded. "You're right. We'll run out of food before we get anywhere. And we should look out for things like fishing camps, tourist camps, and ranger stations. We can take what we need and leave a note."

"Okay. That sounds good. I just hope we don't get in trouble for taking stuff." Jimmy yawned. All the walking made him tired; sundown was bed-down as far as he was concerned.

"We won't. Leaving a note with address, phone, and an explanation along with offer to pay clears us. I'm beat, so I'm hittin' the rack."

"Me too."

They banked the fire and went to bed.

.

Abby eyed her list of names, then asked Tim. "We know who the observers were? As opposed to the actual pick-up guys. And why didn't Jimmy say something?"

Tim, who'd had a similar conversation with Ducky, Jet, and Tony, replied, "Well ... Jimmy probably didn't say much, as he tends to go mute when weird shit happens. No one would have believed him anyway. So ..." He squinted at his monitor.

Abby looked over his shoulder then pointed, "There. That's the pick-up crew ... I mean the guys who actually snatched them off the street. And, I think, the guy who checked Jimmy and Dean in ... he didn't believe it when they told him he had the wrong guy. So ... what can we do? How long will it take them to fix it? and how much trouble will we be in?"

Tim frowned. "This might be the time we really need to take this off site. If we leave even a single track ... well, Vance'll have a stroke."

"Right. And not your place or mine. I ... there's a pit ... I know one of the hackers. He might let us use their servers."

Tim sighed. "Abby, I do not want to know. But ... yeah, call ... on a burner phone, off the Yard."

Abby snickered. "Okay. Done deal." She held her hand up and Tim gave her a high five.

They left just a bit early; Gibbs actually suggested it so they could get where they were going before the evening rush started. Tony just rolled his eyes then snickered. Abby stuck her tongue out at him then giggled back.

In the parking lot she pulled a phone from her purse and brandished it at Tim. "I called in a favor. Told Janie in evidence that I needed a phone to do a favor for AJ. It's a drug dealer's burn phone. Not Evidence evidence, just ... they took it out of his briefcase." She made a call then shoved the phone back in her purse. "We're in. But Phillip told me not to drive my car. Too noticeable. You'll have to drive."

Tim nodded. "He's right. Come on."

Tim followed Abby's directions across two townships and into a warehouse complex that was overrun with 18-wheelers. No one paid much attention to them, as there were a few SUV's and pickups driving around. When Abby pointed and said, "There," he eased into a shadowy loading dock and parked inside. It was a warehouse near the back of the complex, small and just decrepit enough that no one was paying any attention to it at all.

"Okay, we're here. I'll ring the bell. It'll take a bit, because they'll take a grab off the feed and run us. They're really suspicious."

Tim nodded his understanding. "I bet. They're white hackers?"

Abby nodded. "Oh yeah. I wouldn't have anything to do with them if they weren't. They're actually doing some work for the Pentagon right now, so they're really careful."

Tim bit his lip for a second. "This isn't gonna get 'em in trouble, is it?"

Abby laughed. "No. Not a bit. They're just ... checking the security of ... whatever they hack ... just like they get paid to do."

The door popped open and a disembodied voice said, "Walk straight to the T-intersection, then turn left, left, right, then straight until you see a green door. If the door is red, you've made a wrong turn. If you do, wait there until someone comes to get you. Hi, Abby."

Abby bounced happily and yelled, "Hi, John. We'll be right there." She grabbed Tim's hand and dragged him right through the maze and to the green door. She just pushed it open and trotted in.

Tim stopped in the doorway to take stock of what was going on. He was surprised and happy to see that the room was clean and neat, except for the snake's nest of cables all over the floor. And the people, while a bit odd, were relatively clean and neat.

A man came towards Abby with his arms spread wide. "Abby! Love! What's the what?"

Abby hugged him back, squeezing him hard enough to make him squeak. "Oh, man! You don't know. Really. There's been such a fuck-up. Come on, Tim." Tim walked over to shake hands while Abby performed introductions. "Tim McGee, this is Adam West. And he's heard every joke there is. His user name is Gothboy666. Adam, Tim McGee, Elflord."

At that name every head nearby rose like a quiver of cobras. Tim was surrounded by geeks and/or nerds who all wanted to meet him. He took it with good humor, remembering the first time he'd gone down to Yorktown. He grinned and announced, "I really prefer the name my SEAL friends gave me ... Digimon."

The reaction to that was all that Abby could have hoped for. She waited until the crowd thinned a bit and Tim was beginning to look frazzled. "Okay, people! We need to get back to work. And Tim and I need a bit of help. Mostly just your internet connection. Please?"

The people all scattered to their stations with some laughter. One man, barely more than a boy, stayed. "Okay, Abby, what's up?"

So Abby and Tim took turns explaining what had happened and what they wanted to do. Abby finished, "So, Carson ... I know you're moving soon. Can we use your servers and whatnot to do our dirty work? Or would you rather we try to use public wi-fi and a coffee-house connection?"

Carson gave her a horrified look and exclaimed, "Oh, hell to the no. Not a fuckin' chance. Someone please tell me she didn't just offer to use a public wi-fi. Please. No. So ... we'll set you up over here." he led the way to a small, totally enclosed cubicle loaded with equipment. "It's private, secure to the max, and ..." he waved a hand, "isolated from our stations. Has its own share of the servers. You could hack the CIA from here, and they'd never trace it back to you. Or us."

Abby hugged Carson. "Thank you sooo much. This will do fine." Carson grinned and left without another word. Frankly, he didn't want to know what the two were up to. He was sure it would make the Dark Queen look like a piker.

Tim settled at a station and Abby at another; they both did things, then Tim announced, "Well, this is ... something else. Great. If we ..." and he descended into cyber babble while Abby nodded from time to time and typed things.

It wasn't long before they had their stations slaved to the part of the mainframe they were allowed to use, with that part totally isolated from the rest. It was as if there were now two mainframes. Then the fun began.

Abby had taken the time to split the list between them. Tim got half, she got half. They didn't bother to split the chores, just handed off the connection when they were done with it. They cancelled all credit cards, repo-ed a couple of cars, and, in general and in particular, messed with the culprits' lives. In other words, a second helping of the same mess the men had cleared up 24 hours ago. This time it was going to last longer: as long as it took for Dean and Jimmy to show up safe.

The CO got an extra helping of grief, as they just deleted his life altogether.

.

Lieutenant Malcolm Davis eyed the ATM with disgust; it had just seized his credit card, declaring it cancelled. He tried another and the same thing happened. He decided to give that up as a bad deal, beside the fact that he only had two credit cards to his name, and go inside to write a check.

It only took the rather tired-looking elderly lady two minutes to scan his check and driving license. "I'm sorry, sir. Your license doesn't show up in the system." She eyed her monitor for a moment then added, "And there's no such account ... according to the bank's records."

Lt. Davis opened his mouth, closed it then said, "Fine! Give me back my stuff."

Gena Purl Davis managed not to look smug as she replied, "I'm sorry, sir. In cases like this, in order to avoid further attempts at fraud, we're required to seize all counterfeit licenses and other papers. Please clear the window." She quickly snapped the bulletproof window down the three inches she'd opened it to allow the man to hand through his check and license.

"But ... but ... what am I supposed to do? I'm almost out of gas. Can't you ... call someone? Something?" Lt. Davis was pissed and trying really hard not to take it out on the lady.

Ms. Davis looked up from her knitting and said, "I'm sure you can call someone. Please clear the building." She eyed the fuming man for a moment. "If you don't, I'll call the police."

Lt Davis gave up and returned to his car to call his CO to see if he knew what was going on.

When he finally waded his way through the maze of the phone trees, he found that his phone number was coming up as "Unrecognized." His CO was pissed, told him to get his act together, and sent a couple of drivers to get him. One for his car, and the other to drive him.

.

Abby eyed her screen, then announced, "We're leaving PO Marks, Jacob and PO Smith, George alone. They're both married with kids. We can't punish the wife and kids because they're stupid. Maybe the first round did the job."

And she was right.

PO Jacob Marks was just now in a conversation with his wife. His very pissed-off wife. "Hun, the only way that card would have been refused is if you didn't pay the bill. What happened?"

"I don't know. We put it on auto-pay. It should have been paid; it was paid, but the company says it was late, so they suspended the cards."

"Only they only suspended yours? That's stupid." Mrs. Marks eyed her DH. "What happened?"

Just then their eighteen-year-old daughter wandered in. "Dad. I tried to use your phone because mine's charging. It's ... borked. And what was that about a credit card?"

PO Marks tried the tired Dad explanation of, "Don't worry about it, we've got it all under control. I'll have it straightened out."

Jane glanced at his phone, blinked, then said, "It's in service again. Just a sec." She fiddled for a moment then said, "What God of Programming did you piss off? This is hacker territory. The card is back and there's no sign of a missed or late payment, and no charges either. You messed with someone, and they're messin' back. Seriously? Dad? Really." She handed the phone over, leaving two very confused people in her wake.

.

Jimmy woke up, stretched, and said, "Looks like it's gonna be a good day."

Dean yawned, scratched, and agreed, "It does. We'll make good time today. Wonder if we could hit another fifteen-mile day?"

"Maybe. I'm more interested in pancakes. I think we ought to have some this morning."

"Sounds good. You start cooking and I'll pack up."

It didn't take long for Jimmy to have pancake batter ready. "You come sit down. I'll make yours then mine. It won't take long." he sniffed the first cake with a pleased expression. "Yum. Smells great."

Dean got his plate and settled to wait for the first cake, remarking, "The first one is always a bit messy, but I don't mind. They usually taste good. And ... mmmm." He also sniffed appreciatively.

Dean's cakes were quickly done and handed over. Jimmy poured batter for his first then handed over a packet of syrup. "There's two packs of syrup and a little can of butter. I opened it and..." he grinned. "I put the syrup in the coffee water. It's warm."

Dean groaned softly, "Jimmy, you are a god among men. Gimme." He settled back with his food and carefully cut the can of butter through the middle, scooping his share out with his K-Bar.

Jimmy's food was soon done and slathered with butter; he added his share of the syrup and took his first bite. "Oh, man. Delicious, even if I do say so myself."

They were soon done with the food and settled back to drink coffee. Jimmy eyed the sky then said, "We should shoot the sun soon. But I really think we ought to try to keep an ear out for engine sounds and stuff."

Dean nodded. "Did you hear a fly-over yesterday? I didn't. They should be doing a fly-over every 48. Don't really like it that we didn't hear one."

"Do you really think they even know where we are? I'm sure they don't think we're traveling as fast as we are. We're doing at hard march speed just out of habit."

"You're right." Dean smirked. "We do tend to travel fast, don't we?"

Jimmy just surged to his feet and started cleaning up. "I'll take care of the trash, you wash."

Dean laughed. "Fine. It's always whoever cooked doesn't wash. Those pancakes were great. Thanks."

"Welcome." Jimmy tossed the last of the trash into the fire, wiped the plates with a quick-dry towel, and waited for the trash to burn up. "I'll be done here in a couple. Just waiting for the trash to burn."

Dean waited patiently as Jimmy poured the wash water onto the last embers of the fire, stirred the mess with a stick, and doused it again. He put his pot away, arranged his pack, and shouldered it. "Oscar Mike."

They headed out, trotting easily down the shoreline. Jimmy wanted clear horizon before they shot the sun again. He was sure they were nearer Eastmain than they'd first thought. Dean was of the opinion that they were traveling faster than they thought. The terrain was rugged but they had found clear deer trails and actual hiking paths. This was clearly a well-traveled area. The only reason they hadn't met anyone was, it was too early in the season. The nights were still frigid.

After shooting the sun, comparing numbers, and celebrating a bit, they decided to keep to the shore and hope a boat saw them before they had to deal with the bay. James Bay was wide, but fairly shallow, so they had high hopes of being able to deal. They would wait and see what was what before making any solid plans.

.

Jane Smith, who had rejoiced in the maiden name of Zeulaski, eyed her husband with some disgust. "Our phones are all off. I called Sprint and they said the phones were all in service. What the actual fuck, George?"

"I don't know. I called them from work and they told me the same thing. I don't get it. And my credit card won't work, but yours does. How does that even make sense?"

Jack Smith ambled in. "Dad, the internet is back up. I used Wayne's connection to get in touch with Sprint. Check your phone. Something very weird is going on."

George checked his phone; it was still disabled. Jane checked hers and it was on with four bars. Jack eyed that for a moment. "Dad, gimme your phone."

George handed it over. Jack fiddled for a moment then sighed. "Okay. Who the hell did you piss off? This has been hacked. All our phones have been, or I miss my guess. And hacking like this is a sure sign that you've pissed off a powerful hacker."

George bit back a curse. "I'll have them arrested."

Jack just shrugged. "Good luck with that. Hacking at this level? I doubt you'll find a single footprint. Not even a smell. This is the level of Elflord, Dark Queen, or Black Rose. You're boned until they're not pissed anymore." He snorted. "And you're the one ... they're after you. They cancelled your card specifically. I bet they didn't even think of Sprint being shared or having more than just our phones. I'm goin' out. I'll be at Charlie's place. And Dad?"

"What." George just sounded tired.

"Grovel."

.

Tim McGee would deny that he was a vindictive man; Abby, on the other hand, was. Tony, Cos, Remy, and Gibbs were of the opinion that a cluster fuck of this magnitude deserved a "Sherman's March to the Sea" response. Tony actually said, "It's the digital equivalent of a strafing run."

Tim sighed, "Abby. It's all FUME. I swear it's all AMP and FOADIY. That whole office is BDU's and CATFU POGs. I'll take pity on the married guys; their families don't deserve the grief. But the unmarried ones? Fair game."

Abby nodded. "Right. So what else can we fuck up?"

.

CPO Carl Wilkins and PO Lonnie McDean were good friends, in defiance of regs which said they shouldn't be. Lonnie and Carl were fourth cousins through their mothers and had signed up at the same time. The only reason Carl was a CPO and Lonnie wasn't, was that there wasn't a slot for him.

That being said, they were now seated in Carl's back yard, drinking beer and bitching. The ladies were occupied with whatever they did on occasions like this. In other words; Mrs. Wilkins and McDean's fiancé, Clarice Dubois, were in the kitchen, ostensibly making salad, but actually discussing their men.

Mrs. Mari Wilkins was making salad; in other words, she was throwing lettuce into a bowl while Clarice chopped stuff.

"Well, I don't believe it. Really, those two ... they're like a couple of teenagers caught with their pants down."

"Mari, they're embarrassed. How the livin' heck they could make a mistake like that, I'll never know."

Mari nodded. "Well, I'm just glad I have a personal checking account and a credit card in my name only. His card was cancelled; his checking account had every penny in it transferred to savings, which we can't access until the bank figures out what happened. And his phone is off; it just keeps shutting down every time he turns it on. My phone, credit cards, and checking are fine."

Clarice grumbled, "Mine too. I had to loan Goofball a hundred dollars so he could drive to work and have lunch. I know he'll pay me back as soon as things get straightened out, but still. What the hell?"

"Well ..." Mari leaned closer. "Scuttlebutt at the office is that they picked up the wrong man, and someone who is a close friend of the said wrong man is not a happy hacker. No names mentioned, but Louise said that one of them is ... some sort of professional hacker for the CIA and the FBI. Real hush-hush stuff."

"Oh, man. We'll be borked forever." Clarice sighed.

"Probably stop the second they know that their friend is back home." Mari nodded once, dumped dressing on the salad, gave it a toss, then yelled, "When are those burgers gonna be done? Salad's ready."

There was a loud crash and Carl yelled, "Damnit! We fuckin' forgot all about the damn burgers. They're not even on the grill. Sorry."

Lonnie just went into the kitchen to get the bowl of salad and take it out, grumbling, "Damnit. I should a' stood in bed that day. Seriously. I'm takin' a transfer ASAP."

Clarice just told him. "About time. There's a nice opening in Accounting and you're qualified. About time you stopped playin' soldiers."

"Not a soldier. Seaman. Damnit." But he kissed her then walked out with the salad.

.

Jimmy pulled even with Dean to eye James Bay with some misgivings. "Um ... it's way wider than I thought."

"Yeah. We're not swimmin' that. No way in hell. If we were on a damn op, we'd get dropped about three quarters the way across and swim in the rest of the way. In the dark, granted; but I'm not takin' a chance on that. We don't have to."

Jimmy pointed. "If we walk upstream, we might find a place to cross before the cliff gets too steep. And ... don't you have rock-climbing experience?"

"I do. Enough to know that the equipment we have is totally inadequate. I don't want to fall off a fuckin' cliff and break something." Dean rubbed his face, then offered, "Well, shit. We better get to hoofin' it."

"On your six." Jimmy picked up his pack and followed Dean along the bank, grumbling to himself.

Dean just called back. "I can hear you, you know."

"Do. Don't fuckin' care. Shit is beginnin' to get to me."

"Know how you feel. I swear, I'd just about kill for a hot shower."

"Yeah, cold water soap only goes so far. And I need clean clothing. All mine is dirty. We need a laundry day ... bad."

They continued down the bank, talking about what they were going to do when they hit a town.

It was nearly noon when they decided that the river was narrow enough to try to swim it. The bank wasn't unmanageably steep, but it was soft and rocky.

They were standing on the bank discussing the best way to get down to the river when someone yelled, "Stay right there. Don't try to slide down."

Jimmy and Dean turned to see a stocky, dark-skinned man trotting towards them.

Dean took a step closer to the man then waited, unobtrusively putting himself between Jimmy and the stranger. "Man, am I glad to see you. We need to get across the river to Eastmain."

The man offered a hand to shake, "Rhodes. Ed Rhodes. I'm over here checking on the fish camps. Most of 'em are just shacks, thrown up to keep weather off the equipment, but some are real camps, so we check 'em early. Lucky this year, none of 'em need more than a nail or two. So ... what the hell are you doin' over here this time of year?"

Dean shook hands then stepped aside so Jimmy could do the same.

"Dean Cale." Dean nodded in Jimmy's direction. "Dr. Jimmy Palmer. We're on one of those damn wilderness survival shit trips the Navy loves to torture SEALs with. Decided to hike out instead of wait for a pickup three weeks from date."

"I see. Well then ... welcome to the Cree Nation, Eastmain Band." He grinned when Jimmy opened his mouth then shut it quickly. "We don't count tribes much in the Cree Nation, it's all Bands. Come on. I'll take you over, and you can figure out what you want to do." He led the way to a flattie, a 14-foot flat-bottomed aluminum boat, fitted with a nice Evinrude 175-hp outboard. "Take a seat. I'd recommend sitting in the middle and putting your stuff between me and you."

They did as he suggested and settled in to enjoy the ride.

Jimmy sighed happily then said, "Much better than swimmin' the damn river. Seriously."

Ed shook his head. "Not a good idea, swimmin' in the river this time of year. But ... I can see the need to get over to our side. We'll call someone, if you need help."

Dean shrugged. "We'd like to make a few calls, but we've got no money or even ID. Damn pick-up crew took it all. Jerks."

"That's not a problem. We've got internet off a satellite and all that. Most of the kids go to school at the Eastmain School, but anyone who wants to go above high school has to do 'net or leave. And there's some that are far enough out that they homeschool and come in for the tests." Ed flicked the "on" switch, fired up the motor, and eased into the river. He'd waited until they were done talking, as the motor was just loud enough that you'd have to shout to be heard over it, not conducive to relaxed conversation.

They were soon on the other side of the river, standing on a dock with their rucks at their feet while Ed made a call on his cell. He'd explained that they had good cell service because of the tower on the top of city hall and another on the tallest of the buildings at the school complex, which included a sports complex used by the whole community.

"Well, Mrs. Black, she's the tourism lady, said that the hotel has rooms available until late next month. We're small and don't get much in the way of tourists. Usually just a bunch of idiots who want to meet 'real' Indians. They usually leave fairly quickly. We don't do the weekly pow-wow shit."

Dean just shrugged. "I see. Whatever. Remy would laugh his head off every time someone showed up at Ma'mere's place askin' about the local tribes. Louisiana has a small but very viable presence, but they're not the touristy types either. They're too busy livin' to deal with that. I mean, if you like that sort of stuff, fine; but some people don't, so don't bother them."

Ed nodded. "We're just far enough off the beaten track that it's a real bother. An' we don't like strangers showin' up for the Drum and Dance contests and all that. It's private stuff. See?"

Jimmy nodded. "We do. It's sort a like havin' someone walk into a wedding or something and asking impertinent questions while you're tryin' to enjoy the proceedings."

Ed agreed. "Exactly. And asking about our names. We mostly have Scot-Irish or French last names because of the trading, but some earn a name and that one's ... well, not discussed outside of family and such."

Dean laughed. "All we want to do is find a way to get ID and money so we can get out of your hair."

"Right," Jimmy agreed then offered, "I am a physician, so ... um ... if anyone needs attention, I could help? Maybe?"

Ed smiled at him. "We've got two doctors at the clinic and four nurses. I think we've got it covered, but thanks for the offer."

A Jeep drove up just then and the driver, a stocky woman dressed in overalls and flannel, hopped out. "Okay. What the hell?" She blinked at Jimmy and Dean for a moment then ordered, "We'll have to go to the Sheriff's Office first. Don't know how you got here, but you need to report all that shit to him." She grinned. "Don't worry; Sam Frasier is a nice guy." She offered her hand, "Max Granger."

They introduced themselves, thanked Ed for the ride, and got into the jeep for the trip to the Sheriff's Office. Ed just shrugged off their thanks by saying, "Just the right thing to do. Take care." He waved as they drove away; their last sight of him was him returning to his boat.

They soon arrived at a well-appointed hotel near the Sheriff's Office. Max pointed, "Sheriff there. Sign in, settle your luggage, then get over there. Office closes at six pm, and Sheriff Frasier won't appreciate having to wait on you. Likes his supper on time. Call this number if you need a ride here in town." She handed each of them a card, then got back in her Jeep and drove off.

Jimmy tucked the card in his pocket. "Well, I guess she told us."

Dean nodded sagely. "She did. Come on."

They went into the hotel, and it seemed that someone had called ahead, as the desk clerk had keys ready for them. All he needed to know was, "Do you want one room or two? Laundry? Any other services? And you need to check in, then get to the Sheriff's Office."

Dean just glanced at Jimmy who said, "Why don't you head for the Sheriff, I can deal here."

"Okay. I'm off."

Jimmy smirked at him and said, "In more ways than one."

Dean just gave him the finger over his shoulder as he walked out.

Jimmy turned to the clerk and said, "One room, two full beds?"

"We can do that. Laundry?"

Jimmy groaned in relief. "Oh, man, please. Dean left his pack so I can deal, but I really need to check out the room, then go see the Sheriff. I hear he hates missing supper."

"Too true. My suggestion is to check out the room, then just dump everything into one or two laundry bags and leave it either in the hall or bring it down to the desk here. I'll be happy to sort it and send it to the laundry. Mrs. McFarlain does a good job."

Jimmy shrugged. "Sounds good to me. Thanks." He accepted the key and the instructions that their room was down the hall, third door on the left. He nodded, shouldered both packs, and trotted off.

The room was nice, clean and airy. The hotel had been built in the late '90's and had held up well. The mattress was new, as were the pillows, and there were plenty of blankets and towels.

After just dumping the clothing onto the floor, Jimmy got the laundry bags from the top shelf of the small closet and just stuffed everything into two of them. Everything they had was filthy, including what they still had on. He handed the bags back to the clerk and trotted off for the Sheriff's Office.

Sheriff Frasier was a thin Cree with a salt-and-pepper short-cut hairstyle. He was friendly in a detached sort of way. He offered Jimmy his hand to shake and said, "So, you're ... Jimmy Palmer?"

"James, actually, but yes, I am. What can I do for you?" Jimmy shook hands then waited.

"I need a fingerprint. Right index. I've already run Mr. Cale." He noticed Dean's wince. "Something?"

"Sorry. It's actually Chief Warrant Officer. If you ran me by Mr., I probably won't show up. Navy. Jimmy's a civilian."

Sheriff Frasier sighed. "Okay. So ..." he poked at his computer for a moment then said, "Maudite piece de crotte electronique!"

Jimmy snickered. "Something?"

"I speak Cajun French. Remy's teaching me. Not something you might expect and ... rude? Shame on you."

Dean also understood a bit of French; admittedly, mostly swear words, so he had also understood the Sheriff. "Sorry, man. Don't blame you. Your system is ... old."

"It's a damn antique. It's frozen again. I'll have to call ... someone. We don't have IT out here, and it takes three or four days to get someone out to fix it. If Charlie can't do it ... um ... I'll have to have you stay here until I can get you sorted. Not that that would be a problem, as I'll just have you stay at the hotel. But ..." the computer beeped half-heartedly, and the monitor flickered as the display refreshed. "Great. Chief Warrant Officer Dean Cale. I'll skip all the official mumbo jumbo. I'll have your temporary ID printed out in a sec. And you can get a phone down at Charlie's Electronics." He turned to Jimmy with an old-fashioned fingerprint kit. "Sorry you'll have ink all over. But I do have some wipes that work pretty well."

Since the sheriff had already inked the glass plate, it didn't take him long to get the fingerprint and scan it into the computer. A few seconds later, Jimmy's temporary ID was printing out. The Sheriff also got them access to their bank accounts and printed out a letter allowing the local bank to give them money.

Jimmy finished wiping the ink off his finger while he waited. He decided to tell the Sheriff he was a physician, just in case. "Sheriff Frasier, just in case, I am a licensed physician in the US. I'm offering my services in case of an emergency."

"Well, that's very kind of you. But ... as I'm sure you're aware, you're not licensed to practice in Canada. Except in case of an emergency." He smiled politely. "Now ... you better get down to Charlie's and get phones. I'm sure your friends and family are worried about you. And tell Charlie to come up when he has time and look at this crap." The computer promptly gave an electronic groan and froze again. "Damnit!"

Dean shook his head. "Sorry I can't help more. I got problems, I dump the whole shebang onto Digimon. We'll head on down and send Charlie up ASAP."

The Sheriff banged the monitor with a fist and replied, "You do that. Thanks." He wandered into the back of the office, mumbling about coffee.

Jimmy opened the door to leave but glanced back over his shoulder, worried about the Sheriff. Dean poked him on out the door, hissing, "Leave it. He'll be okay. His blood pressure will suffer more if we hang around."

"Okay, okay. Don't poke me, jerk."

Well, put a damn wheel under it then."

They squabbled amiably as they walked the block and a bit to the store which was clearly marked, 'Charlie's Electronics.'

Charlie cheerfully admitted to staying open an extra half hour to allow Jimmy and Dean to get phones. They decided on cheap burner-type phones, as they would only need them for a couple of weeks at most. It didn't take long to contact their credit card providers to get authorization to pay for the phones and have them activated. Dean passed the Sheriff's message on, and the three of them left the store together.

They walked back to the Sheriff's Office together; Charlie tapped on the door to be let in. Someone Jimmy and Dean didn't know opened the door, smiled at them, and shut and locked it again when Charlie slipped by them; all without a word.

"Well? Okay?" Jimmy looked puzzled.

"Gibbs syndrome." Dean nodded once.

"What the fuck is that?"

"Don't waste words when they're not needed. Silence is golden, and survival." Dean nodded again.

"Okay. I get that. But would it kill them to be civil?" Jimmy managed to look slightly offended while smiling.

"In this case and some others? No." Dean shrugged. "Old habits."

"Well, and I say this with all due respect, fuck that shit."

They walked on past the hotel, looking for somewhere to get some clean clothing. Finally Jimmy just walked into the nearest place, which seemed to be a hardware store, and asked.

The woman eyed him for a moment then advised, "I wouldn't. If you really mean that you think clothing off the rack is clean, think again. Do you have any idea? Any?" They both shook their heads. "Okay, manufacturing creates dust. Spinning and weaving is filthy. Then the cloth is measured out on tables that are never wiped off. Cut with a saw thing; dust again. Then sewn together in another dusty environment. Folded, packaged, and stuffed into cardboard boxes for shipping. All without washing. Then the stuff is in a shipping container for months along with Lord only knows what, as well as cockroaches, spiders, and any other local bug that happened to wander in. In other words, just plain nasty. I wouldn't wear stuff off the rack, period. I'd rather wear ... anything mine, no matter how dirty. But ... if you insist, there's a trading post store at the end of the street."

Jimmy recoiled in disgust. "Um ... no. Um ... we'll just go back to the hotel and ... um ..." he shut up before he said something too embarrassing.

Dean just swatted him on the shoulder and said, "Shut it. And ... thanks for the low-down. We will just go back, take a shower and ... um ... wear a towel or something."

The woman looked at them for a moment, then chuckled at their red faces. "Don't give me that. I've got three sons. You'll go take a shower, then wander around in your shorts, or altogethers, until bed. I'll bet your stuff will be done late tonight. Now shoo. I wanna close up."

So they left the store and went back to the hotel. The clerk greeted them by name and informed them that Mrs McFarlain had called to tell him that their laundry would be done by 10:30 tonight, so did they want it delivered? Or not.

Jimmy turned to Dean, "Like we're gonna be asleep before midnight."

Dean thought for a moment. "Well, I might be. But she can deliver it whenever it's convenient, and we can have someone bring it up in the morning." He turned to the clerk. "Right?"

"Yes, sir. I can tell the morning clerk to call you at anytime and deliver your things as soon as you're ready for them."

Dean glanced at Jimmy who just nodded. "Okay, that'd be great. We're usually up by 0600. Just have someone bring it all up at 0630. Thanks." He turned to go then turned back. "Oh, yeah. What's tv like?"

"We have Dish from a dish on the roof. All channels on the 150 plan are free. Pay-per-view is added to your bill. And speaking of that. I hate to ask but, how are you going to pay?"

Jimmy answered that, saying, "I'm going to call Jet, and Dean is going to call AJ. If nothing else, they'll wire us some money. Also ... send a bill to the US Navy. Just for shits and giggles."

The clerk, whose badge read 'Mac', laughed and said, "Got it. Thank you."

Jimmy opened their door and went in. He flopped onto a bed and said, "Dean, ol' pal o' mine, turn on the telly, please."

"Jerk." Dean flipped Jimmy a bird. "And your Ducky sucks." Dean tried to pick up the remote, only to find it was fixed to the bedside table. "Shit!" He hated that with a passion, his favorite pastime was ruined by that. He really couldn't channel-surf when the remote was nearly out of reach.

Jimmy just snickered, "Sorry, dude, pick a damn channel."

Dean flipped through the channels until he found something they both could stand: news. But Dean pointed out, "Dude, you need to call Ducky or ... someone. I'll call AJ."

"When?" Jimmy flushed as his stomach growled. "After we eat?"

"Soon as we're done. We call any earlier and they'll still be at work." Dean picked up the phone and dialed the desk. It was only seconds before the phone was answered, "Hello, Jimmy and I are looking for a good place to eat. Don't want Micky D's or Taco Bell. Something local." He listened for a moment then said, "Directions please."

It seemed that there were two restaurants in town, and a Tim Horton's, a McDonalds, and a Moxy's Grill and Bar. The deskman was of the opinion that, of the two private restaurants, Gillian's was the best. He said it was plain, good, and clean, and served locally grown, in-season stuff. Ben's Outback was known for decent food, but a lot was canned, frozen, or dried. He especially noted that the mashed potatoes came from a bag, and the gravy was that "salty brown crap from powder."

The directions were easy. "Turn left out the door, go past the hardware store, turn right on the first path, and you'll walk right into it. It's a converted house, so don't walk past the first building you see as that's it." He also added, "And stop by the desk for vouchers to pay. No one around here has that box thing; they all have to swipe a card. They'll take a voucher from us, and we'll add it to your bill."

They decided to just wear what they had on and apologize for being dirty. They both had showered and slapped as much dirt as possible out of what they had on. It'd have to do.

It didn't take them long to collect the vouchers and head for food. The walk was nice; the air was a bit chilly, but the scenery made up for it. The directions were spot-on, so they found the place easily.

The restaurant was actually a 1920's Sears catalog kit house. The only thing that let them know it was a restaurant was the signboard hanging from a front pillar. And the delicious smells from the kitchen.

Dean looked the place over and realized that the owner probably lived above the restaurant proper, as there was a set of stairs on the side of the house. "Okay, here we are ... now what?"

They mounted the front stairs and went in. The first thing was interesting; like many old Canadian houses, this one had a vestibule to keep the cold out of the main room. Dean pushed the door open and walked in. The dining room took up most of the ground floor, with the kitchen right behind it. To the left of the door, set back a bit, was a short display case with a register against the wall.

A cheerful voice from the stairs to the far left of the room called, "Be down in a sec. Sit down, menu is on the board at the back."

Jimmy pointed to a table near the kitchen and said, "There?"

Dean nodded and followed Jimmy. They settled to look at the menu while they waited.

It wasn't long before a young man, who didn't match the definitely feminine voice they'd heard, came to the table. "Okay. Had time to look at the menu?" Dean and Jimmy both nodded. "So, what would you like?"

Dean asked, "Is it okay to eat elk rare?"

"It is. We check all our meat for ... problems. Elk steak? Potato? Veg? And hot rolls and salad come with it."

Dean ordered elk, baked potato, mixed veg, and house dressing on his salad.

Jimmy couldn't resist. "I'll have the baked trout, wild greens, wild rice pilaf, and same salad as Dean. Tea?"

"I can do that. Cup with a bag or a pot and loose?"

"Pot and loose. PG Tips if you've got it; if not, whatever's popular. Two cups?" Jimmy glanced at Dean.

"Yeah, but I'd like a glass of water too, please."

The man nodded. "Back in a sec with the water. About thirty minutes for the food. Salad in ... ten?"

Jimmy agreed, asking, "With tea?"

"Yes, sir."

Dean just grunted; he was unhappily texting. "Well, damn. Should have waited until after."

Jimmy eyed him. "Couldn't wait to text AJ? Dumb ass."

"Yeah. He's ... pissed is one word. He'll wire some money to the Sheriff's Office for us. Take 18 hours, plus or minus. Should be there by 1500 tomorrow." He fiddled a bit, read then added, "He says he's glad we're safe and he's looking forward to some payback ... later."

Jimmy's phone beeped, so he answered, "Palmer." He listened for a moment, then glanced at Dean. He mouthed, "Jet," then went back to listening. Finally he said, "Okay. We'll be here ... only hotel in town. A couple of B & B's, maybe; but the hotel is big enough." He listened for a moment more, then hung up.

Dean snickered, "Abby."

Jimmy blinked for a moment, then said, "Oh, my fucking Thor."

"Yeah."

The food arrived just then, and all other thoughts went right out the window.

As the salad came first, they also got hot rolls. The teapot was a huge thing; the server cheerfully informed them, "Since you both want tea, I just brought one big pot. And you get one free refill on hot water. The leaves will stand up to it."

Dean thanked him, then turned to Jimmy. "Two waters?"

Jimmy nodded. "You know Ducky gets three infusions out of his Superior Earl Grey; some tea leaves will actually give you four." He poured the first cup for Dean, then took one himself. After a few sips, he offered, "It's really good. Not PG Tips, but something more ... oolong."

Dean sipped. "Yeah, top notes of peach and almond with mid notes of ... some other sort of fruit ... might be cherry. And base notes of ... spice?"

"Yeah. It's very good. I think you're right on the mid note, but the base is vanilla ... oh, spice, but it's not really. And a bit of cinnamon."

They addressed their salads and rolls and found the rolls to be homemade; the salad was fresh spring greens, spinach, and kale garnished with slivered almonds and orange slices, and the house dressing was orange vinaigrette made with balsamic vinegar.

They lingered over their food, talking about one of Ducky's journal articles and complimenting the flavors.

When they were nearly done, the server came to the table and asked, "Are you ready for your main, or would you like to hold it a bit?"

Jimmy gave him a horrified look. "Oh, no! AJ would kill us, if your chef didn't. Please bring it now. Thank you."

Dean just nodded as his mouth was full of buttered roll.

The server returned with the food and a question. "Um ... If it's not rude, who is AJ?" He set the plates down with a smile.

Dean answered, "He's a friend of ours and a master chef. He hates it when someone wants food held over. He's also a Lt. Cmdr. in the SEALs so ... yeah."

The server chuckled. "So ... do not piss off the chef or he'll shoot you."

Jimmy shook his head. "No, he won't. Ducky would make him clean up the blood himself. He'll just run us all into the ground for a week."

They turned to their food, and the server waited for their approval.

Dean's steak was huge, and the potato was, too. The mixed veg turned out to be carrots, parsnips, onions, and potatoes. The server, who didn't wear a name tag, said, "Sorry about the veg; it's too early in the season for anything but root. It's good, though."

Dean shrugged. "Looks great." He cut a bite and chewed for a moment. All he could do was mumble, "Goo'."

Jimmy's trout had been stuffed with bacon, lemon slices, and a bit of onion and garlic. It had been baked in parchment, so it was tender and juicy. The greens were wilted with a dash of butter, salt, pepper, and balsamic vinegar. The wild rice pilaf was a mix of wild, brown, and white rice with corn, onions, garlic, butter, and saffron.

The server smiled, said, "Enjoy," and hurried off to deal with a group of six that had come in. They'd waited patiently at the register until the man got to them. Jimmy noticed that he greeted them all by name.

They ate slowly; the food was too good to gobble down. Jimmy slathered a piece of roll with butter, stuffed it into his mouth, and chewed. His expression of bliss made Dean chuckle.

"Mmmm. This butter is so good. I wonder where they buy it."

The server was walking by, overheard and answered, "We churn it ourselves."

Dean groaned in pleasure. "Man, oh, man. Yum."

It wasn't long before they were done eating. The server dropped by one last time. "Dessert? And I'll just top the pot up." He smiled. "Don't worry about clearing out quickly, we're never busy enough that lingering is a problem." He turned and pointed to the bottom of the menu board. "Pie, cake or something else?"

Jimmy and Dean took a moment to read the board. Jimmy decided, "Dried apple pie with streusel topping and a scoop of ice cream."

Dean thought for a moment then said, "Chocolate cheese cake with fudge topping. Thanks."

The desserts were just as good as the main. The dried apple pie had been rehydrated with a mix of boiled cider, lemon juice, honey, and water, then thickened with corn starch. This seemed like a bit of a misnomer, but dried apples were rehydrated or they'd bake up into leather. The crust was made with lard and butter and was flakey and tender. The ice cream had vanilla seeds in it and was just soft enough. Dean's pie was just as good; the chocolate that had been mixed into the filling was of excellent quality, and the crust was made with crushed chocolate wafers instead of graham crackers. The fudge topping was warm and thick, also obviously homemade.

They managed to squeeze three pots out of the leaves, so they were more than sated when they finished. Jimmy handed Dean his voucher, as he had no idea how to handle it. Dean just wrote the prices off the menu board then added a tip on both vouchers, then left them on the table, telling the now busy server, "Left vouchers on the table; if there's a problem, let us know. We're at the hotel. The food was great."

The server nodded, busily scribbling down orders; a voice from the kitchen yelled, "Thanks. Have a nice night." The clatter of pots let them know that the lady they'd heard earlier was most likely their chef.

They left, clattering down the stairs to the path and trotting off into the deepening twilight. They made it back to the hotel just as Dean's phone rang. He winced as the tone was loud and strident; he hadn't had time to change it yet. "Cale." He listened for a moment, then said, "I'll put us on speaker, if I can figure out how on this flippity piece a' crap." He fiddled a bit then said, "Okay. Talk."

Gibbs' voice came from the tiny, tinny speaker. "You two have tickets at the airport. Tim fixed it. There's gonna be $200 each at the Sheriff's Office by 0800 tomorrow. Tickets are for 1000. Have the hotel send their bill to Belt. See ya soon."

Dean eyed his now-silent phone with disgust. "Well, damn. Some day I'm a' gonna hang up first. Swear."

Jimmy snickered. "Well, good luck with that. Come on. Bed. I'm beat, and I can't wait for a real bed."

"Me neither."

They trotted down the hall to their room and settled on their beds to watch Canadian news until they both fell asleep with the TV droning in the background.

.

The next morning was a bit of a rush. They slept in a bit, fought amiably over who showered first, and waited for their laundry to come. It came right on time; a knock at the door sounded exactly at 0630, and a cheerful voice called, "I just put it beside the door. No one sorted it, as it got mixed and it's not marked. Sorry."

Jimmy just opened the door, took the basket out of the man's hands, and said, "Don't worry about it. We're different enough that it's not a problem. Besides, we share. Thanks."

He brought the basket in and started sorting. The laundry was folded, every single thing, including their flannel shirts. Jimmy put his stuff on his bed and Dean's on his. They would be packing up soon, but they both needed something clean to put on. He picked up his last dirty stuff and put it into a plastic bag that said, 'Laundry' on it. He also picked up Dean's things and added them to the rather smelly mess.

"Dean! I stuck your stinkin' stuff in with my equally stinky stuff. I'll put it in my bag. Ok?"

Dean poked his head out the bathroom door. "Fine. Pack for me will you? Just leave out something."

Jimmy laughingly demanded, "What do you think I am?"

Dean smirked, "My bitch."

"Oh, please, as if. Jerk." Jimmy threw a pillow at Dean and smacked him in the head. "Finish up."

"I am, I am. Patience."

Jimmy just turned to put Dean's things in his ruck, then finished his own packing. Dean came out of the bathroom just as he was finishing.

"I left you two towels, a hand towel, and a washrag. They're generous-sized, too. Nice place."

"Thanks. You're all packed except for shorts, jeans, henley, flannel, and footwear. You can pack your own toiletries."

It didn't take Jimmy long to accomplish the three S's and get dressed. "I'll be glad to get back home."

Dean nodded. "Any chance of food?"

"Continental in the lobby." Jimmy made a face.

"Yum." Dean's tone of voice belied the word. "Tired pastries, cold, weak coffee ... or tea. And dry cereal. Some sort of watery juice. Wonderful."

Jimmy nodded. "When you're right, you're right. And no time to find someplace else to eat. We need to be at the airport by no later than 0900. It's gonna take us for fuckin' ever to get cleared."

Dean blinked. "Oh?"

"Well, think about it. No passport, no driver's license, burner phones, hundred bucks cash, no credit cards. So not suspicious. Seriously? I wouldn't be a bit surprised if someone didn't call the Sheriff ... or the Mounties."

Dean frowned. "Shit."

By then they were at the check-out desk. "Hi! Thanks for bringing our stuff up. We're checking out."

The clerk grinned at them, way too cheerful for that time of day. "Good morning. Did you have a nice night? And ... key please?"

Dean handed over the key card and waited while the young woman fiddled with the computer. "Okay. I see that your accommodations have been charged to a ... US Navy DEVGRU? And it's a soft card, so I'll need to see ... oh! You're the walk-in guys." She clattered at her keyboard for a moment then nodded. "Okay. You're all set. But what is DEVGRU?"

Dean smirked and answered, "United States Naval Special Warfare Development Group. Used to be called Team Six, but that was discontinued in the '80's ... 1987 to be exact. But old habits. We were dropped ... somewhere up north and expected to survive for two weeks. But Jimmy wasn't the target so ... fuck that shit. We walked out. We're gonna do somethin' fun for ... what is it now?"

Jimmy answered, "Fourteen days. You're considered on duty while on a training mission of any kind, and I'll be damned if I'm gonna let you have all the fun. Vance will co-operate, I'm sure."

The woman eyed them, shook her head. "You're all crazy as hell. Sign here."

Jimmy and Dean obediently signed where she pointed, thanked her, and went to find the breakfast buffet.

This was located right in front of the side door. They were both surprised to see that it was well stocked with good food. The eggs, sausages, Canadian bacon, biscuits, and pancakes were in a hot bed, while small cartons of milk, apple juice, orange juice, and mango-pineapple juice were bedded in ice at the other end of the buffet. The middle was occupied with cereal, toast, pastries, and condiments. The coffee/tea service was against the wall.

They both filled plates and wondered where to sit. They didn't want to take up the only seating in the lobby, but there was no place else. They ate quickly, enjoying the biscuit sandwiches they put together. Jimmy did remark, "I didn't think biscuits were very Canadian."

Veronica, the desk clerk, agreed, saying, "They're really not. But they're kinda popular around here. Fresh white bread isn't always available, transport being what it is. So biscuits and fry bread are the staples." She glanced at her watch. "You better get going."

Dean agreed after a look at the clock behind her. "Right, right. We're on the way. Where do we put the dirty dishes?"

"Just bring 'em here. I'll be happy to take care of it. Thanks." She took the dishes and went into a room behind the desk with them. "You go on."

"Thanks again."

It didn't take them long to make the quick walk to the Sheriff's Office for the last time.

He wasn't there, but the young deputy who was knew exactly what was going on. He took two envelopes out of a cubby on the wall behind him and put them on the counter. "Here you go." He added forms and pointed. "Sign there, please, after you count it."

Both men opened their envelopes, counted the one hundred Canadian dollars, agreed that it was all there, and signed the forms.

The deputy checked the forms, said, "Thank you, gentlemen," and pointed out the door. "Max will drive you over. Have a nice day."

Dean nodded. "You too."

They went out to find Max and her Jeep waiting for them. "Good morning. Have a nice night?"

They replied that they did, climbed into the Jeep, and settled in for what Max said was a ten-minute drive ... if you believed in speed limits. It turned out that she didn't, so it took a little bit less than seven.

They pulled up in front of the small airport, wind-blown and laughing. Max shook their hands, turned down the offer of gas money, and said, "Let the Sheriff know you get home safe. He'll spread the word. And, I'll just say, you're the craziest, luckiest mothers in existence." She climbed into her Jeep and took off with a last wave over her shoulder.

"Well." Dean watched her drive away, shook his head. "Wow. Let's get in."

Jimmy got his ruck and shouldered it. "Okay. Wonder how long it'll take us to get through security."

They soon found out that it wasn't going to take long at all. Their plane was waiting for them. The border check was quick; all they had to do was show their temporary ID and fill out a form. Evidently someone had cleared the board for them. Mounties nodded at them after examining their ID. One of those disgustingly cheerful people-persons led the way to their plane.

This, it turned out, was a Cessna 320 Skyknight with a very smug-looking AJ standing by the stairs. "Going my way?"

"AJ!" Dean trotted to his friend and punched him on the shoulder. "Man, am I glad to see you."

"I donno ... are you?" Tony smirked at Dean then nodded to Jimmy. "Jimmy! How are you?"

"Good. Glad to see you." He managed not to sound too plaintive when he added, "Can we go home now?"

Tony and Dean both laughed. Tony nodded. "We can do that."

~*~  
Usual team mates:  
Tony/AJ - Remy  
Dean - Cos  
Tim - Jimmy  
Gibbs (solo)

The MCRT is now down to Gibbs, Tony, and Tim, with Remy, Dean, and Cos in and out for training. Dorneget is TDA as needed.

FUME - Fucked Up Military Excuses  
AMP - Ain't My Problem  
FOADIY - Fuck Off And Do It Yourself  
BDU's - Brain Dead Users  
CATFU - Completely And Totally Fucked Up  
POG - People Other than Grunts  
Three S's - shit, shower, shave

It's a constant source of irritation to anyone in any service. They're not all soldiers.

Army - soldier  
Navy or Coast Guard - sailor/seaman  
Air Force - Airman  
Marine - Marine  
Not interchangeable


End file.
